Casualties
by A Kiss For A Kill
Summary: A collection of oneshots of the Soap/Ghost variety, with a few guest appearances, mostly Roach... Rated for language and yaoi
1. Reflections

**A/N:**I seem to be freaking out with all these oneshots I'm churning out... Anyway... Very light Soap/Ghost. Set during Post-Game, after Shepard's death. (Which happens to be one of the most badass endings a game could ever have. :3) Soap has been evacuated by Nicholai to a safe-haven and he's healing up before he has to face the repercussions of what he did.

**_DISCLAIMER:_** All glory be to Infinity Ward, the makers of this fine game. I wish they were mine, because I'm in love with Soap. Also, Ghost's voice. :3

* * *

He usually prided himself on being constatnly aware. Aware of sights, sounds, smells, locations... He was never lost and he always knew his way out. He knew who to call when a situation got out of hand. He could time things well enough to keep his team safe and the enemy off-guard.

But not this time.

This time they were unprepared. They didn't expect Shepard's betrayal. They weren't ready to fire at one whom they considered one of their own. A whole team destroyed over one man's bitterness.

Soap had only two regrets for his life. The first was that he hadn't been able to save Ghost from an enemy that was more of a specter than he was, that he hadn't been able to catch Roach after his last slip-up. His second regret was that he'd been too busy bleeding to kill Shepard as slowly as he deserved.

His thoughts returned to his dead team. Here he was, lying in a soft, warm bed healing up while his team members were killed and left to rot in the sun, left to be picked at by scavengers and skull-fucked by maggots. They weren't buried. He'd heard what Shepard had done to Ghost. "To congratulate you, have a bullet to the head and a funeral pyre."

Soap remembered Rio, when they had caught up to the right hand of Rojas. He remembered sending Roach, Chemo and Meat away while he stayed with Ghost, an informant, a metal chair and a car battery. The man talked readily enough once Ghost got started with his "interrogation", once he thought they'd stop the pain and let him live. Violation of protocol. Protocols were enacted to protect the team. Once the body had stopped twitching, Ghost had taken his mask off, the mask that protected his identity, protected his vain pride.

Soap didn't see why he hid behind the visage of a painted skull. Ghost's eyes were a bright, clear green that reminded Soap of Ireland and his short hair was a dark, inky black. But it was the scar Ghost hated looking at, the scar that curved from the corner of his left eye down to just below his lips, the scar that had faded, but was still a noticeable ravine carved into his skin. Soap had no problems with scars. They showed that you'd come close to death and kicked his ass back a few steps. They showed that you could get the shit beat out of you and keep fighting. Soap never saw the scar as the turn-off Ghost swore it was.

"How you holding up?" Price asked.

"I'll be back to normal soon enough." Soap promised.

"Just take it easy, McTavish."

"My team was wiped out by the man we were told to trust and follow with unquestioning loyalty, the man who swore he was on our side until the end. There's no 'taking it easy'." Soap growled.

"Then take it as easy as you can while we're waiting on your stitches to heal."

Soap muttered something that Price couldn't quite latch on to, but he had an idea of what it was. "I really doubt Ghost would want you doing something stupid to compromise an already FUBAR situation." He retorted.

The wince the comment wrought from the normally stoic McTavish was obvious. Price knew Ghost and Soap were close. He had his suspicions about the nature of their relationship, but he was old school "Don't ask, don't tell". And besides, the two of them made one hell of a team.

"Get some rest. As soon as I decide you're ready, we're going to kill every bastard Shepard ever dealt with." Price's promise was the only solace Soap had left.

* * *

**A/N2:** Ramirez! Make sure they review! :)


	2. Cabin Fever

**A/N:**This is set pre-MW2 (obviously, since Soap and Ghost are looking for intel on Macarov), but best to include that anyway. I'm also recycling my description of Ghost from my other MW2 oneshot "Casualties" because it sounds hot, I'm lazy, and it's midnight while I'm writing this. Obviously Soap/Ghost slash, and this is more obvious than it was in the last one. Mostly because Ghost is alive in this one. XD Also, assume the "uniforms" they're wearing are the almost-civvy urban gear they wore in the Rio de Janeiro levels, i.e: the jeans and shirts with Kevlar, etc.

**_DISCLAIMER:_**Ghost, Soap, Makarov and Modern Warfare 2 belong to Infinity Ward. If it belonged to me, Ghost wouldn't have fucking died. He would've stabbed Sheperd in the throat with a .50 cal round.

* * *

"You always have to play with the distance toys, don't you?"

Soap didn't even glance up. He sat on one of the stiff beds in the small room, Ghost occupying the other one. He looked down the detached barrel of the Intervention, sliding a brush inside and clearing away all of the non-existent debris he couldn't see. If they had time to kill, they might as well make sure they were ready.

"Fine. Don't answer me." Ghost shrugged.

They'd been sitting in some low-budget hotel for weeks, waiting for days on end, keeping an eye on the building across from theirs, a whore-house Makarov's favorite Commrade was known to frequent. Soap was beginning to think their intel was off. Again. Wouldn't be the first time they'd gotten stale information. Guns had been cleaned, knives had been sharpened... They were beginning to run out of things to do to keep themselves occupied while cooped up in the shit-hole they were calling a "base of operations". Soap was starting to get restless. He was starting to think they'd been fucked over. There were plenty of other places they could be in, places where they knew the intel was solid, places where more good could be done than sitting around, waiting for someone to show up...

"How many times are you going to clean that fucking gun?" Ghost demanded, the soft rasp of the barrel brush beginning to grate on his already frayed nerves. Soap only glanced up at him with indifferent blue eyes. He gave the barrel a few more scrubs before he set the brush to the side and started the process of reassembly.

"That's a little more tolerable." Soap could hear his team mate's smirk as he spoke. Soap responded by throwing one of his knives at Ghost, just missing the masked man's head.

"Getting pissy, MacTavish?" He was met with more silence. Ghost shrugged and pulled the knife from the already crumbling sheet rock. He turned to give the knife back to its owner and found Soap standing directly behind him, hand extended, waiting for the knife.

"I'm gonna make you wear a bell or somethin'. Fuckin' sneakin' up on me." Ghost muttered as he slapped the knife into Soap's palm.

"Now who's getting pissy?" Soap smirked.

"Fuck you, John."

Soap raised an eyebrow. Ghost noticed it was the eyebrow with a thin scar cutting through it. A frag or an IED he was too close to or something of the like... Soap said there was so much blood and the flash was so bright, he thought he'd gone blind.

"You trying to tell me something, Riley?"

Ghost responded by lunging off the bed and taking Soap to the ground. Soap knew how fast his teammate was. Everybody in the 141 had to be quick, mentally and physically. "Two types of people: the quick and the dead". Ghost moved to hit Soap, but the blow was deflected. Soap used this new displaced momentum to throw Ghost to the ground. Soap found himself straddling the masked man and Ghost seemed more than just a little pissed at the situation. MacTavish pushed Riley's mask up, though Ghost made no move to fight him.

"I don't know why you wear this damn thing." Soap growled. Ghost wasn't unattractive, not with his features that a trashy romance novelist would call "aristocratic", and his bright green eyes and black hair that earned him a few Harry Potter jokes in his direction until he was old enough to understand the mechanics of a fist fight.

"You fucking know why." Ghost hissed. Soap grabbed his chin and forced his head to the side, looking at the curved scar running from the corner of his left eye to under his lips.

"It's not so bad."

"Says the _other_ scarred-up bastard."

"Would you rather I be someone else?"

"Fuck no." Riley smiled.

"Good."

Soap kissed Ghost the same way he did everything; fast, heavy, precise, calculated, controlling. Ghost tried his damndest to take control, earning him only a few smart-assed remarks about being court marshaled for an attempted coup.

"Fuck off, John. We know who really runs the one-four-one."

"Easy, Simon. I have stripes that say otherwise." Ghost snarled at bit at Soap's neck for the comment. Soap made a silent prayer that this wasn't the moment Whats-his-nuts decided to visit the brothel, because there was no way in hell the two members of Task Force 141 would notice him if he emptied an AK clip into the whore-house...

It was nearly three hours later when the call came through their comms.

_"Papa-six, come in."_

Soap rubbed his eyes and sat up. He knew that it wasn't the best idea in the world, both of them falling asleep at the same time in a known enemy zone.

"Please tell me they're calling us home." Ghost muttered to no one in particular.

Soap reached for the com. He could've slept for a few more hours and _Christ_was he sore... It had been, as always, a fight to keep Ghost under him. He caught sight of a dark, ugly, purple bruise on his shoulder in the shape of Riley's teeth. He was sure he had a few more on his neck. He spared a glance at his still half-dozing teammate, half-heartedly called him a lazy bastard, and noticed that Riley was similiarly covered in red marks and bruises.

"This is Papa-six, over." Soap sighed, trying to avoid sounding exhausted.

_"Papa-six, you have new directives. Intel for the current mission was skewed. Your extraction point is your drop-off L-Zed. Be there in two hours, over."_

"Got it. Back to the starting point in two hours. Papa-six, out."

"I think I'm going to demand some leave time when we make it back to base." Ghost sighed.

"Sayin' you need time to recover?" Soap smirked. Ghost flicked him off and looked over the edge of the bed, trying to find his discarded clothes. He'd just gotten back into his pants and was looking around the room for his Kevlar when he was thrown against a wall and felt sharp teeth digging into his neck.

"Fuck... John... We don't have time for this."

"We've got two hours, Simon."

"And how often do we find ourselves in enough trouble to eat up all that time _without_ wasting any of it?" Ghost continued to argue, though his willingness to push Soap away was beginning to wane.

"You afraid we'll miss our ride out?"

"You know they'll leave us behind."

Soap thought for a moment. He knew Ghost was right. He knew that they'd been inactive long enough to look for trouble without realizing they were looking for it just to blow through a few clips.

"Fine. But this _will_ be continued."

Ghost took a few deep breaths once Soap was gone. Intensity was part of the job, but sometimes they got a little carried away.

"Nice to see you back, Captain Mactavish." Worm grinned as they jogged away from the helicopter. Soap offered a tired smile.

"Ghost! My quarters. And that's an order." Soap yelled over the heavy 'thwack' of the chopper blades.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n." Ghost said sarcastically. He knew he'd pay for that later, when the intensity carried them away, when the fight became more about "gaining the high ground" than "eliminating the opposition". He smiled behind his painted visage. That would just make things all the more interesting.

* * *

**A/N2:** I promised myself I wouldn't do this just because I have so many one-shot collections, but fuck it all I'm getting attached to this pairing. So that's what this has become. It was supposed to be "Casualties" and that's it. Now it's growing on me and goddammit I can't stop. So if you like it, review it and put it on alert because I have a feeling I'm going to be making more MacRiley stories. -_-'


	3. Murphy

**A/N:** Well, I'll admit that I'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to certain things. My FanFiction is one of them. I did a little research for this chapter 'cause I wanted to make sure the guys had characteristic weapons, and I stumbled across a page from Ghost's comic book posted online (yeah, he has one of those). Apparently, my previous descriptions of him with my "artistic license" were close, but still off. According to the page I'm looking at, Lieutenant Riley has very dark brown hair and hazel eyes, though in the game, they're blue. So I'm gonna stick with blue eyes and dark brown hair from here on, kay? Kay.

**GothicBandicoot:** When I first read your review I was like: "Shit... Good 'wow', bad 'wow'?" And then I noticed the favorites. I'm a little slow sometimes. XD

**MissPumpkinHead:** It's not that I wasn't excited to continue, more along the lines of "One of these days, I'm actually going to _finish_ a full-length fanfic instead of starting it and letting it die because I'm ADD". XD And there will be more of these oneshots, I can guarantee that. Why? Because guys with accents are hot. Guys with guns are hot. So accented guys with guns are ridiculous. :D

**Auctoritas:** I'm really glad you liked the past few chapters. And there really need to be more Soap/Ghost fics. I swear it's canon... XD

* * *

Soap had always heard that the only law SpecOps teams ever followed was Murphy's Law, the one that stated that anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. He never believed it. He wasn't one to leave his future up to fate or God or Karma; he controlled what happened to him and his team. But he was beginning to change his mind.

They were standing in the middle of Siberia, following up on a report of too many guns running through one little town in the middle of nowhere. If the Ultranationalists were setting up shop under the radar, this seemed the most likely place. There was nothing around for miles, and not in a sense of civilization either. The "roads" were just narrow swatches of snow that had been packed down over months of driving across it; they couldn't even be properly called trails, seeing as how there were no trees for miles either. Even the snowdrifts were pathetic excuses for cover. These Russians clearly didn't want someone to sneak up on them.

"I'm sending only you and Ghost. There's hardly enough cover for one man to hide in, but we can't send you without backup." Sheperd sighed.

The two of them had been dropped nearly ten miles from the city, dropped in the sparse trees in the hopes that the enemy didn't have an eye turned skyward. The trek to the town alone took them almost until nightfall, leaving them with only what their thermal scopes and heartbeat sensors could provide on the situation. As it turned out, their intel was correct, but that was the last thing to go their way.

_"Hotel-six, you have new directives, straight from the top. You are to destroy all munitions you can before your pickup. Do you copy on new directives, over?"_

"Command, this is Hotel-six. We copy on new directives. Is pickup still the same, over?" Soap wasn't happy.

_"Pickup remains the same, Hotel-six. You have forty-eight hours to complete the mission, over."_

"Copy that, Command. Hotel-six, out."

"They changed our orders in the middle of a mission?" Ghost wasn't pleased either.

"We can't do anything about it now. You brought Plan B?" Soap asked, returning his focus to the thermal scope attached to his Intervention.

"Never leave home without it."

"Good. We're going to need it."

They waited until the guards had changed and were mostly asleep before they made a move on the town.

"Ghost, you take the left flank, I'll go right. Look for any sort of intel that might come in handy." Soap ordered, his voice sounding painfully loud despite how he hardly murmured through the comms.

"Got it."

Soap found very little that was of any use. There were a few shipping manifests that showed there would be plenty of AK-47's passing to their enemies, along with a few other dangerous little party favors, but nothing else that proved much of anything.

"Soap, I think we've got a small problem." Ghost murmured.

"What is it?"

"I got three BTRs sitting in a warehouse."

Soap thought for a moment...

"I don't know how well this is going to work, but put some C4 in the control panels and the engines. If we can cause enough damage, then we'll at least have a chance to get out of here alive." Soap eventually sighed.

"Got it."

Soap planted his own half of "Plan B", more than a little pissed off that he was actually having to use it. He was nearly done with setting the detonation charges when he heard a series of sharp _cracks_ coming from across the compound. He sighed. Of _course_ they would get spotted.

"I have three tangos on my position." Ghost panted through the mic.

"I'm making my way over there now."

Soap stole through the compound, finding resistance surprisingly light until he encountered a particularly large warehouse. There were at least fifteen men outside and gunshots ringing out from inside.

"Ghost, I got eyes on a back door. Hurry up and get out before they remember they installed one." Soap ordered.

"I tried. The door's locked."

Soap could've screamed, but it would have only given his position away. He growled and examined the door. No deadbolt that he could see... He kicked the knob a few times before it broke away from the thin metal plating that held it in place.

"Door's unlocked." Soap said.

"Little busy, Captain." Ghost said, just barely heard through the com and over the sound of the gunshots coming from inside.

Soap unholstered his USP .45 and slipped through the now open door. He saw Ghost crouched behind a crate marked with the word "EXPLOSIVE" in red stencil down the sides. He was taking cover there hoping they wouldn't shoot and get themselves blown up.

"I'll cover, you move back this way." Soap said through the communication system, not yet wanting to reveal his presence. He saw Ghost nod and he signaled that he was headed out.

The first three rounds startled the Ultranationalists into turning away from Ghost and seeking cover behind a pyramid of bright red gasoline barrels. Ghost stole out the door while Soap fired a few more rounds in the direction of their enemies. He soon followed suit.

"How did we manage to land ourselves in _this _mess?" Soap demanded as they sprinted across the open ground. The wind was calm, hardly kicking up even the most pathetic of flurries. They would need to put more distance between them and the compound before their white cammo would offer any protection. A mechanical roar sounded behind them and Soap felt his blood run cold. They had started the BTRs. He saw Ghost's hand tighten around the detonator.

"Do it before they can get rid of all the Plan B!" Soap ordered.

Ghost didn't like the concept of setting off that amount of plastic explosives from this close a distance, but he had to agree. They didn't have the time to waste. He pulled the black plastic trigger and the world behind them went up in a wave of heat, pressure, and light. Something white-hot cut through Soap's left side and he stumbled. Ghost grabbed his Captain's right arm, threw it around his own shoulders, and pulled him along. They didn't have time to waste. Eventually, the novelty of their munitions being on fire would fade and the enemy would be twice as pissed and headed in their direction.

"Command, this is Hotel-six requesting immediate extraction!" Ghost yelled as he ran, still half-supporting Soap.

_"Hotel-six, this is Command. What is your situation, over?"_

"We've been compromised! Munitions have been destroyed the best we could do, but Captain MacTavish is injured. I repeat, request immediate extraction!"

Ghost was met with a crackling, static-filled silence before Sheperd's gruff voice filled his ears.

_"Son, our nearest friendly helo is two hours from the rendezvous site_." Shepard sighed.

"We have to move the site closer to the compound! We've eliminated their BTRs and most, if not all of their heavy weaponry, but we need to get out here _now_!" Ghost yelled. Soap stumbled, only further proving his teammate's concerns.

_"We're sending two Black Hawks your way. They'll be there in an hour and a half. Pop red smoke when you hear them. Command, out."_

"We have an exit ticket." Ghost chuckled grimly. Soap only winced as his boots slid over a patch of ice. Ghost's laugh died and he scanned the area. He vaguely remembered seeing...

"Come on." He murmured. There was the burnt-out shell of an old Abrams tank, another left-over from some half-forgotten battle. He pulled the Captain over to the wreckage and climbed up onto the top, helping Soap inside. As an after-thought, Ghost set up three or four claymores a few yards away from the tank; might as well hear their welcoming committee. He closed the hatch up as best he could and was suddenly glad the Russians had cannibalized the inside. There was _nothing_ left; even the seats had been removed. Soap was leaned against one of the walls and had a hand pressed to his blood-slicked side.

Ghost crouched next to him, coaxed the digi-cammi jacket off, and followed it with the stiff Kevlar and the blood-soaked undershirt.

"Looks like you've fucked yourself over." Ghost muttered.

"Watch it."

Ghost ignored the warning and rooted around through their supplies.

"I got nothing to stitch it with, but that's probably for the best, eh?"

Soap chuckled at the sentiment. Ghost had steady hands, but no skill with a needle. He poured a bit of water over the wound and Soap hissed.

"Doesn't look like there's anything in there." Ghost examined the surprisingly deep wound that was easily six inches long. He pressed gauze to the wound and winced when it was almost instantly stained through with crimson. He helped Soap lean forward, the Captain leaning a little too heavily on his comrade. Ghost bound the wound tightly and grit his teeth. Was MacTavish's breathing that short and heavy because of the run or because he was bleeding to death?

"Oi, John." Ghost tried. He needed to get some sort of reaction, needed to know Soap was still in the land of the living.

"You're never going to let that die and just call me Captain, are you?" Soap chuckled.

"We've known each other too long for that one." Ghost leaned him back against the bulkhead and Soap winced.

"I hope you're not thinkin' about closing your fucking eyes." Ghost warned.

"You gonna stop me, Simon?"

Ghost responded by taking off his red-tinted sunglasses and his white mask with it's black skull facade. Soap ignored the gesture and leaned his head back against the cold metal. He reacted only when the Lieutenant straddled his hips. He bolted upright and stared into Riley's cool blue eyes.

"You have to stay awake. Between the cold and the blood-loss, you doze off now and you aren't waking back up." Riley reminded him.

MacTavish just nodded and pretended this behavior was normal. But for the two of them, it was. Danger was as common for them as breathing, and so was falling back on their inclinations towards each other when they were wound up. He knew that this was not only Riley's way of releasing the tension that came with being stuck in the middle of a frozen goddamn desert with no clear way out and a small militia after them, but also trying to show that he was worried. It was a fucked up relationship, but they lived in a fucked up world. If Soap were an idealist, he'd swear they loved each other.

Riley leaned forward and his lips barely traced those of the Captain.

"Just because we call you Ghost doesn't mean you gotta act like one." MacTavish smiled.

"I have a reputation to uphold."

Soap growled and wrapped his calloused fingers in Ghost's dark hair, pulling him close. He didn't feel quite so cold with Riley this close, even without his insulated jacket on. Of course, _kissing_ Riley made the cold seem like something from a vivid dream, rather than something on-going.

But Murphy wasn't done with them yet. As with the rest of the Task Force, they became very single-minded when it came to getting whatever it was they were currently after. They both forgot that one of them was dangerously close to bleeding to death until John choked on a pained cry. Simon's carelessness had pressed his gloved palm firmly against the open shrapnel wound. He grunted an apology and Soap glared. Before either of them could make another move, an explosion was heard from outside.

"What the hell was that?" Soap demanded.

"Fuck. Claymore set up around the perimeter."

Ghost pulled his mask and glasses back on and pushed a full clip into his M4A1. Soap similarly reloaded his USP .45.

"You just stay put until I tell you I need help." Ghost growled. Soap flicked him off, but didn't try standing.

Ghost was suddenly a little pissed at himself for deciding to hide out in an Abrams. The steel shell was too thick for his thermal and heartbeat sensors. He was going into a situation with no idea how many enemies were outside. He slowly raised the hatch, gun first, and pressed his eye to the thermal scope. There were four heat signatures outside, all on the ground, one of them was cooling rapidly. The took careful aim and eliminated the other three. He dropped the M4A1 and asked Soap to pass up his SCAR-H with the heartbeat sensor. Soap grudginly complied. Shouldn't _he_ be the one tossing orders around?

"It looks clear for now. Probably just a small search party." Ghost sighed as he dropped back inside and closed the hatch back up. He eyed the captain warily.

"While I'm not usually one to complain about you walking around half-naked, I doubt this is the appropriate environment." Ghost said slyly.

MacTavish agreed. He reached for his clothes and pulled the undershirt on with a groan. Riley rolled his eyes, muttered something about "helpless Captains" and helped MacTavish redress.

"How much longer before those helos arrive?" Soap demanded.

Ghost checked his watch, but a crackle of static and half-formed commands stopped him. Once again, the steel shell that was protecting them was putting them in a bad situation.

"It sounds like command. I've got to go outside so I can get a good signal."

Ghost didn't wait for a reply. He lifted the hatch, scrambled outside, slammed it shut again, and slid down the side, keeping the tank between himself and the direction their four would-be-attackers had come from.

"Command, this is Hotel-six, repeat last communication, over." Ghost murmured, keeping his eyes on the endless expanse of frozen tundra.

_"Hotel-six, this is command,"_Ghost almost smiled. At least it was Sheperd, at least they knew that they were getting the truth, _"There's been a delay on the Black Hawks."_ The half-smile faded.

"Then send something else. The captain's losing a lot of blood. We don't have time to wait for delayed Black Hawks." Ghost was losing his patience. He didn't get a response for several agonizing seconds.

_"We're scrounging up some transport. Twenty marks. Can MacTavish hold that long?"_

"I hope so. Hotel-six, out."

Ghost climbed the tank and dropped, only slightly surprised when a UMP .45 was leveled in his direction.

"Gettin' jumpy, John?"

"Only when I'm behind enemy lines and bleeding to death inside a half-forgotten Abrams with no sign of rescue." He snapped.

"The Black Hawks were delayed, but they said we have something else coming our way. We have twenty minutes, give or take."

"That sure as hell beats two hours."

Soap didn't want to admit it, but he was having one hell of a staying awake. The blood stain around his ribs was slowly over-powering the white and gray of his jacket and he could feel every jagged millimeter of the wound. Ghost straddled his hips again and Soap nearly rolled his eyes. One-track minds and all... Riley pressed hot fingers against MacTavish's cold neck. The pulse was there, slightly irregular... But it was the cold of John's skin that worried him. His hand slipped around the back of John's neck, his thumb tracing a stubble-ridden jaw-line. Soap shuddered at the contact; he knew he was in bad shape if Riley felt _that_ hot against his skin, especially given how the Lieutenant had to be cold.

"You're not looking too good, John." Simon murmured.

"Tell me something I _don't _know."

Ghost pulled the mask away before he rested his forhead against Soap's. His left hand still curled around the back of the Captain's neck, he raised his right to rest on the side of his face. It was usually Soap who initiated kissing between the two of them, be it from some sort of habit of Ghost taking orders, or be it some sense of respect between the ranks, but not this time. Simon winced at how cold John's lips felt. He smirked, but only a litte, when strong hands curled into his hair, hair that Sheperd would undoubtedly make him cut when they finally got back to base. But for the moment, he was going to enjoy it. John pulled him closer, ignoring the slight protest coming from his wound. Simon pulled away.

"If you get your heart rate up too high, you're not doing anything but bleeding out faster." Simon murmured.

"Says the one who fucking started it."

Ghost didn't retort. He instead reached for his balaclava and glassses. Soap didn't ask what he was doing. He heard it, heard the heavy _thwack_ of helo blades. Ghost threw the hatch open and tossed a smoke cannister into the open and watched the search beam highlight the plume of red. The Little Bird started its descent and Ghost ducked back inside.

"That's our way out."

He helped Soap to his feet and watched the Captain pull himself up the short ladder slowly. Ghost followed him out and helped him down the side, pulling him across the snow and the ice towards the awaiting helicopter. They both stumbled and ducked as a spray of automatic gunfire exploded from behind them.

"Fucking... We're not gonna catch a break, are we?" Ghost growled.

The two of them continued to run, sprinting towards the waiting helo and their way out of this. AK rounds glanced off the sides of the Little Bird, showering sparks and small metal shavings over the snow. Soap and Ghost were pulled on board and their exit ticket took to the sky, wavering a little uncertainly as it hit unseen turbulance. The jerking of the helo knocked Soap against the hull and he groaned as pain radiated through his side. Ghost regarded him warily.

"When we get back on the bloody ground and I can finally move properly, you're going to have hell to pay for getting found out like that." Soap growled.

Ghost raised an eyebrow, a motion that was almost completely lost to his covered features, but Soap knew him well enough to catch the slight expression and fixed Ghost with a level stare. Riley chuckled to himself. He could tell by the icy look the Captain was throwing in his direction that he wouldn't walk away from this "encounter" without a limp and a nice collection of bruises...


	4. Spin Off

**A/N:**This one is a spin-off of a story written by Kos-Mos067. It's called "A Brush With Death" and that's what this is based on. I seriously suggest you go read it: fanfiction(dot)net/s/5588748/1/A_Brush_With_Death. :D ALSO!!! I think I might have referred to Ghost as "Lieutenant" before. Fucked that one up. -_-' He's "Lieutenant" in the comic book, but I'm pretty sure they call him "Sergeant" in one or two places in the game, sooooo.... Henceforth, "_Sergeant_ Riley." :)

**_PLEASE READ:_** This one is a little more Roach-centric, so we only know what he knows, just because I think it's a little more interesting to see how an outsider takes the news of MacRiley. :D

**MissPumpkinHead:** I hope this one keeps everything good... And I kinda like ending a serious scene with humor. If it's funny, you'll remember it. ;)

**GothicBandicoot:** I'm trying to keep them good, even if it means a bit of a delay between updates.

**yeah-bled:** I'm so stoked that you like the collection. And I don't think I'll have too many problems coming up with inspiration for these. :)

* * *

It was odd to see; like watching the world's most interesting argument in a silent movie with no subtitles. If the gestures were anything to go by, Captain MacTavish was pissed, and General Sheperd wasn't too happy with the way the Captain was acting.

"Hey! New guy!"

Roach rolled his eyes. He'd been with the team for three months, and it was still "New guy" this, and "The FNG _always _cleans everyone else's weapons". He turned to face Meat and wondered for a moment who the fuck came up with their callsigns. He could almost understand his nickname... He was known as a bit of a klutz, but he somehow managed to survive his lifetime of unfortunate clumsiness...

"You're not gonna learn anything about what they're arguing about just staring at them like that." Meat said with a slightly haughty air.

"I'm pretty sure I figured that out." Gary muttered.

"I've been trying to read the Captain's lips for _years_. It's the goddamned accent, I swear... And the General... Half the time _listening_ to him is hard to do, always going philosophical and talking in riddles. Hell, I think--"

"Do you have a point to this, Meat? Or are you just wasting my time while Chemo and Rocket put oatmeal in my pillowcase again?" Roach asked with a sigh.

Meat eyed him with a scowl before saying, "There's a point to all this. Look, the whole team is on edge after what happened to Ghost."

Roach winced. He remembered the RPG team coming from the southeast, a direction they thought they had cleared. Ghost had tried going for cover behind a disabled all-terrain vehicle and it just... Exploded...

"Hey! Focus!" Meat snapped. Roach rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his moody teammate.

"We want you to sneak into Ghost's room and just see how he's doing." Meat grinned.

"No."

"What?"

"No. That's a fucking suicide mission. We were told to stay the fuck out of the med wing unless we needed to be there. The Captain already looks pissed. I'm not fucking going there." Roach insisted.

"The Captain's not gonna get pissed at _you_. Everyone knows that his order of favorites goes Ghost, you, and then who-the-fuck-knows."

"Bullshit, and you know it. Everyone knows the Captain's favorites list goes Ghost, and then no one."

"MacTavish has wasted more time trying to save your sorry ass from your own stupid mistakes than anyone else." Meat pointed out.

"Maybe that's because Roach _makes_ more stupid mistakes than anyone else." Worm laughed.

"Fuck you guys. I'm not doing it." Roach huffed.

"Look, Gary, can I call you Gary? The way it goes is this," Worm sighed as he threw an arm around the FNG's shoulders, "We tell you what to do, and then you go do it. Because while you're in the Captain's good books _now_, that could change. See, the way we feel about you gets back to Ghost, who tells everything to Captain MacTavish. So if we whine loud enough, everyone's gonna get pissed off and it _is_ possible to get transferred from this unit to one handing out shit-paper for the rest of your career." Worm shrugged.

"If it'll shut you assholes up, I'll do it." Roach growled, shoving Worm's arm off his shoulder.

"Good. While the Captain and the General are arguing, sneak into Ghost's room, get a good idea of how he's doing, and then come back out here, and just let us know what kind of shape he's in. Easy mission." Meat grinned.

"For the record, you guys are the biggest assholes I've ever been stuck working with." Roach grumbled.

"Duly noted. Now go."

Roach muttered to himself and snuck towards the medical facility. The easiest way to find Ghost's room would be to ask the nurse at the front desk. But he knew that asking for Ghost, or _Lieutenant Riley_, as it were, would only set off an alarm somewhere and have Captain MacTavish materializing from nowhere to kick his ass. So he caught a glimpse of her name badge, ducked into an empty room, and made a page for her. Sanderson watched from the doorway of the room while the nurse muttered something and walked away from the desk. The moment she was gone, Roach sat down at the desk and started hitting keys on the computer.

_Patient File Search:_

**Patient Name:** Sergeant Riley, Simon. "GHOST"

**Condition:** CLASSIFIED

**Room:** Intensive Care Ward. Room number 616

Roach closed the search window, slipped from behind the desk and hurried down the hallway where a map was so graciously posted on the wall. He trailed a finger along the various corridors and murmured to himself as he memorized the way to the ICU. He heard the approaching footsteps of the nurse that worked the desk and started walking towards the direction of what he hoped was Ghost's room...

He didn't slow his pace until he passed a sign declaring the ICU was just ahead and the room numbers started with "6".

The Sergeant's room was dimly lit and silent, except for the beeping of the various monitors that surrounded him. Roach winced at all of the tubes and sensors attached to Ghost. That was when he realized that Ghost's mask was still off, and this time he had the time to look... He shrugged. The Sergeant wasn't a bad-looking guy, which kind of made him wonder why he wore the fucking skull mask around like it was Halloween 24/7. The doorknob turned and Roach dove into the linen closet across from the foot of Ghost's bed. He left the door open a crack so he could see who was visiting.

Captain MacTavish was in the room and he was... _Running a hand through Ghost's hair?!_ Roach bit his lower lip to keep from making some sort of noise and continued watching. The Sergeant seemed to move, and might have opened his eyes. MacTavish pushed the "CALL NURSE" button on the wall near Ghost's bed. The nurse had short reddish hair and bright green eyes and wasted no time in pushing the Captain to the side and checking Ghost's vitals and comparing current readings to past readings... She paged a doctor and the tube rammed down Ghost's throat was removed. The nurse set a pitcher of water and a small cup down on the bedside table, adjusted the bed so Ghost was sitting up, and slipped out of the room.

Ghost motioned towards the water and MacTavish obliged him.

"How much time have I lost?" Ghost asked.

"Twenty hours, give or take."

"I remember Zach saying it would only take an hour for them to pull the shrapnel out of my chest."

"You died twice on the table, Simon."

Roach nearly choked. The Captain referred to _no one_ by first name...

"It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a stray RPG to kill me." Ghost muttered.

"You didn't see how much you were bleeding." It almost sounded like a joke when the Captain said it that way...

"We've been through this before, John. You can't kill a Ghost."

_John?_ How long had these two known each other?

"A theory you seem pretty damned determine to test."

Ghost just shrugged and eyed MacTavish warily.

"Why don't you pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable? Stop looking like you're going to bolt out the bloody door."

"Because I just stopped in to see how you're doing. I've got a stack of incident reports to fill out, thanks to you." MacTavish muttered

"Sit your Scottish ass down." Ghost snapped.

Roach choked back a gasp and retreated a little further into the closet.

"Did the blast knock out your sense of respect as well?" Captain MacTavish almost seemed amused.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sit your Scottish ass down, _sir_." Lieutenant Riley said sarcastically.

MacTavish smiled and pulled a chair closer.

They talked for a few minutes, mostly about how long Ghost would be out of the field to heal, and Roach leaned against the wall and tried to make himself comfortable as silently as he could. The nurse returned after a little while and Roach peeked through the crack once again. This was what he was _supposed_ to be after, information on Ghost's medical condition, not his opinion on hospital food and MRE's...

"Time for another round of Dilaudid(1). I'm sorry, Captain, but he's going to be a little incoherent after this shot." The nurse apologized.

"Could I get another minute with, 'im?" MacTavish asked.

"Sure." The nurse smiled and stepped out of the room.

"You're letting them dope me up?" Ghost asked, seemingly amused.

"It's eather take the Dilaudid, or spend the rest of the day in agony. And I don't like listening to you bitch. You need the rest anyway."

Ghost smiled and then... Roach thought he was hallucinating. Did the Captain just _kiss_ the Sergeant? MacTavish left the room, the nurse returned and emptied a needle into the IV in Ghost's arm. True to the nurse's word, Ghost was glassy-eyed and staring at the ceiling almost immediately. Roach took the opportunity to steal out of the room and back to his team.

"Fucking took you long enough!" Worm yelled when Roach reappeared.

"You okay, man? You look a little pale." Meat murmured.

"I was in the fucking room when Captain MacTavish walked in." Roach snapped.

"I _told _you that's where the Captain was headed." Worm grinned.

"Fuck off, fish-bait. You get busted?" The last part of the comment was directed to Roach, who shook his head.

"So how's Ghost doing?" Worm asked, a little more serious.

"He's alright, I guess, though the Captain said he's gonna be a desk jockey for a few weeks while he heals up." Roach shrugged.

"Tough break for Ghost. Wonder if this means you'll take his place as the Captain's favorite." Meat teased.

"For some reason, I doubt it." Roach smiled.

"What do you mean by that?" Worm demanded.

Roach shook his head and walked away.

"Hey! I'm talkin' to you!" Meat yelled at his back. Roach didn't stop. The team dynamic suddenly made a lot more sense; espeically why Ghost was the favorite.

"That little shit knows something." Meat growled as he watched Roach walk away.

"He's just doing it to piss us off. He doesn't know shit about shit." Worm huffed. Meat continued to mutter under his breath, but let the subject drop. He was going to find Rocket and Chemo and see if they could catch one of those big-ass scorpions to put on Roach's pillow...

* * *

**(1)** Dilaudid is a painkiller that is 10 times stronger than morphine. _Ten times!!!!_ It also takes effect almost _instantly_. I only know because Mum's a nurse that works ICU/CCU. Fun fact: The nurse described is based off of Mama. :D

**A/N2:** After going over this once or twice, I think I'm going to stick with just Soap and Ghost in the equation... I dunno... I kind of enjoyed exploring the team dynamic, but I feel like the MacRiley took a backseat... Meh. It is what it is. And, for the record, stupid things like oatmeal in whatever and scorpions on pillows and stupid shit like that _does_ tend to happen, especially when you piss someone off. Two of my foster brothers are Marines and I got a letter from Jon a few weeks ago talking about how he tried going to sleep and he got short-sheeted by someone in his squad and Red told me about a kid in his platoon that pissed off the wrong dude and his bootlaces would just...disappear. I have a close friend in the Army (Currently in Afghanistan, OOAH!) who told me about these huge-ass camel spiders that look like the Incredible Hulk of scorpions. He sent me a picture of one of them along with a little message that mentioned his friend having arachnaphobia. We can all see where this is headed... Well, at any rate, hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are appreciated. :D


	5. Envy

**A/N: **This is the beginning of the "Seven Deadly Sins" series. I know, over-done, but whatever. These aren't seven drabbles. I forced myself to make these full-lenght fics. **_BE ADVISED!!!!_** I kinda freaked out when writing this story, so this does, somehow (God forgive me), work out to be Soap/Ghost/Roach. Just fucking read it and keep in mind that it was written during my English class while everyone else learned about Renaissance Literature and the components of an Elizabethan Sonnet (Shit I learned four years ago).

**GothicBandicoot:** Thanks. :3

**MissPumpkinHead:** I like the way Lieutenant sounds anyway, lol. I dunno. I think there's a chance some of the research was off, but whatevs, lol. I _did_ kinda wanna make you get pissed at Worm and Meat, but that's just for more character dynamic. I never really liked their characters anyway. XD There's also some Soap/Roach in this one. Because I agree with you; Soap/Roach is practically canon. 'Cos if I were MacTavish, I'd stop trying to save the clumsy bastard after "Cliffhanger". XD

**Gaaragirl2020:** I'm glad you liked them. I have a lot of fun writing them.

**Nadilee:** Yeah. I pitched a fit when Ghost died too, lol. And, just so you know, I'm going to be covering the seven deadly sins in "SelfContained" too. I'm thinking there may be some heavy AltMal coming up... lol.

**StarscreamRox's:** I tried keeping them all in character, but I'm beginning to work on _expanding_ that character, looking into what we didn't see in the game. :3 I also feel like I'll be pulling heavily on my experience with the military to keep these authentic, lol.

* * *

Envy. Latin: invidia. Definition: According to Dante, "A desire to deprive other men of theirs."

It was a problem Roach had. He had a bit of a "thing" for Captain MacTavish, and he knew the captain liked him well enough. The problem was that captain MacTavish was involved with Ghost.

Gary was the FNG, and that sometimes worked to his advantage. The team wasn't used to him being around yet. He was overlooked and forgotten unless something no one wanted to do needed to be done. So he saw the looks between the Captain and Ghost, those blue eyes taking on a hungry gleam if he stared at the Lieutenant long enough, the way he'd look as if he could will away the mask on Ghost's face... Roach didn't much care what Ghost looked like. He couldn't be _that_ good-looking if he hid behind a mask all the time.

Gary knew that, if he tried hard enough, he could get fucked by just about anyone in the 141. But not the one he fucking wanted. It was the Shakespearian "Green-Eyed Monster" that hooked it's disgusting talons into him. He should be ashamed of himself, wanting Ghost to transfer to another unit so he could move in and try to fill the vacancy in the Captain's bed.

His envy soon betrayed him. Soap had praised Ghost for something mundane and Roach hadn't quite been able to stop the cold glare he tossed in the Lieutenant's direction. It seems the Captain took notice of the look, but not its cause.

"I don't know what you and Lieutenant Riley are on about, but get rid of it. I'm sure it's nothing the two of you can't work out."

"Sure thing, Captain." Gary's smile was forced, but he didn't know that the Captain could tell.

His conversation with Ghost was infinitely more awkward.

"MacTavish isn't hafl as oblivious as you think he is. He's seen the looks you've been tossing in his direction. He's just not good at anything resembling emotion."

They were in Ghost's private quarters that looked, to Roach's dissatisfaction, rather disused.

"I've seen the looks you've been throwing at the Captain and he's seen the looks you've been throwing at me. So between the two of us, we know what you're thinking. "

"And what's that?"

"You want to bed Captain MacTavish."

Roach was careful to keep his facial expression neutral. Ghost leaned against a wall and crossed his arms, watching the faint flicker of jealousy flash behind Gary's hazel-brown eyes. Roach stood there silently, trying to predict Ghost's next move, while Ghost waited for Roach to make a move. Ghost won out when Roach shifted. Ghost was much faster than Gary expected and found himself pinned to the wall behind him.

"John doesn't like dealing with these things. He leaves them up to me. And before you ask, I'm going to answer. You know the value of a rush and the thrill of something new. You up for something new, Sanderson?"

Roach got the feeling he knew just what Riley was thinking; He just wasn't sure if he liked it.

He soon rescended his comment about Lieutenant Riley being unattractive. He was handsome in his own way. He was half expecting Ghost to kiss him, once the mask had come off. He hadn't, however, been expecting to get fucked, right there, in Ghost's bed. Even more unexpected was Ghost pulling him closer post-coitus instead of turning him out.

As if sensing his bed-mates confusion, Ghost murmured, "Just because it was sudden doesn't mean it was a casual fuck." Despite confusing him more, the sentiment seemed to somehow comfort Roach as well. He almost nervously pressed closer to Riley and his efforts were rewarded with an arm being draped over him.

Gary spent the next day contemplating and analyzing the fact that he'd slept with Simon. he wasn't ashamed, for he felt he had no reason to be. But it wasn't the same. Ghost still had what Sanderson wanted more than anything; He still had the Captain's attention. MacTavish didn't look in Roach's direction. It was a week later when Gary grew irritated with the situation. Sex with Ghost was fine, but it just wouldn't do. He damn-well wanted the Captain. And Ghost was all but flaunting his relationship with him. They would have silent conversations with glances tossed in his direction. Ghost even called the Captain "Soap", which, judging by MacTavish's reaction, was a bit of a special name. Roach nearly chewed through his tongue while watching the to of them together... He was dangerously close to cornering the Lieutenant and demanding another go... But he clung to his dignity and refused to crawl back to Riley's bed. He would wait until he found a way into _MacTavish's_ bed. He just had to get him away from Ghost. And once that happened, the rest would be easy enough.

Roach stopped that thrain of thought as soon as he realized where it was headed. He was starting to sound like the creepy serial killers from one of the cheap horror movies he enjoyed. He needed to take a deep breath, and step away from the situation.

"Envy is a green-eyed monster." Roach sighed. He wanted what Ghost had. He wanted the Captain. He was just envious and sexually frustrated and--

"Roach!"

He turned and faced the Captain after quicky cutting his thoughts short.

"Yeah Captain?"

"I heard you and Ghost had a little conversation." Roach could see the smirk in those chill blue eyes.

"That's right." He nodded.

"He said you're a pretty good conversationalist when you put your mind to it."

"I suppose..."

"Ghost and I are planning a debate later in my apartment off-base. Be in Ghost's quarters after evening chow." MacTavish tossed a wink in Roach's direction and walked off. Roach stared after him for a few seconds before she shook it off. He had to meet Worm at the shooting range in half an hour. That should suffice in keeping him busy until supper...

Three hours later, he was half-asleep with his head on Soap's chest while MacTavish enjoyed a post-coital drink of scotch. Ghost was lounding on the other side of John, drinking a beer and talking about sending Rocket and Peasant on an intel mission somewhere in Syria. Captain MacTavish murmured some sort of response and Roach nearly purred as the Captain started idly tracing patterns on his arm.

"So?" Ghost asked, nodding to their new bed-mate.

"Your judgement was spot-on, as always. I won't mind him joining us again.

Gary almost smiled to himself, almost thanked whatever god he could that he'd _finally_ gotten what he wanted, but not quite. The green-eyed monster, though quieter now, demanded to know why Gary didn't get the same one-on-one treatment Simon had gotten over the years...

* * *

**A/N2:** So, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I think I made Sanderson sound a touch psychotic, but envious people do some crazy shit. I dunno... Hopefully these start getting better instead of getting worse... Sorry if it sucked kids. I'm just waiting until we hit "Lust". I'm gonna OD on smut. XD


	6. GLUTTONY

**A/N: **This is part 2 of 7: GLUTTONY. I'm really going with the phrase "Glutton for Punishment" on this one because I really believe that these two are sado-masochists when you get right down to it. ;) **_NOT ONLY IS THIS INCREDIBLY LONG, BUT IT ALSO CONTAINS SMUT!!! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!_**

**yeah-bled:** Wow. Gad to see I wasn't the only one freaking out over that chapter, lol. I wonder how you're going to feel about this one... /evil grin.

**Nadilee:** Yes, Roach was a little bit of a whore. This chapter,_ Ghost_ is the whore, just not as much as Sanderson...

**xania:** Continuing the collection. ;)

**Gaaragirl2020:** I hope you love this one as much as the last ones.

**MissPumpkinHead:** Now an officially "M" rated story. And I wouldn't be surprised if Sanderson sneaks his way back between MacTavish and Riley... And I think there should just be more MW2 slash in general, lol. This chapter begins the Smut overdose. GREED is going to be interesting, but LUST is going to be over the top. :3

**GothicBandicoot:** I'm glad.

**wolfdemon22:** Thanks for the love.

* * *

Officially, his records were clean. But it was hard to dirty up a resume that was mostly blacked out and so classified, the Queen of England herself wouldn't be granted a glance. Unofficially, Ghost was the most welcome thorn in MacTavish's side. There was nothing that could warrant a discharge or any official action, just little things he did to worm his way under the Captain's skin; things like intentionally showing up to unit meetings a few minutes late with a hardly suitable excuse, or neglecting whatever reports he should have filed in favor of visiting the shooting range. Of course Ghost made up for it when it counted, but he loved annoying MacTavish.

They were on leave for a solid month, after spending nearly half a year running around in Afghanistan and Kirghistan and whatever other fucking -stan Sheperd could send them to. Soap was on his way back to Scotland to visit his sister. Ghost followed for lack of something better to do. He had no family left in England, no family left anywhere outside the confines of the one-four-one. Besides, Soap had promised him copious amounts of good booze.

Neither of them were particularly fond of being out of uniform, no Kevlar, no tear-resistant outfits, and, in Simon's case, no mask... Simon had a tactical knife tucked into the back pocket of his slightly baggy jeans. He knew that it probably wasn't such a great idea, and it was probably even a little paranoid, but he didn't like feeling unarmed. Soap was similarly carrying a knife. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep the paranoia of being unarmed from taking over. You can only spend so much time with a gun in your hands before _not_ having one makes you feel some how incomplete...

Such were Ghost's thoughts as he followed Soap through the narrow and sleepy streets of some half-forgotten Scottish town to Kira's sprawling house. The two of them took careful note of every alley they passed, every flicker of movement, every person they passed, and all without realizing they were doing it.

Kira's home was a two story building with winding staircases and hidden rooms, unneeded proof of her excellence as a successful architect. Simon's eyes darted up to one of the large bay windows on the second floor. He'd almost thought he'd seen a curtain flutter up there... Rather than say anything, he continued following Soap up the carefully bricked walkway. John rang the doorbell and almost instantly the carved wooden door flew open and a resounding crack echoed through the private street Kira's house sat on.

"I told you to call her." Ghost sighed. John bit his tongue and eyed his sister with a glare. Her blue eyes were as cold as his could ever be, her long black hair pulled away from her face that managed to look delicate despite the scowl that decorated it. There were only three people in the world that had ever struck John openly and faced no sort of consequence, and his mother had died when he was seventeen, and Price had died right next to him. He could never hurt Kira.

"You should have fucking called me. I haven't heard from you since Dad's birthday, and that was eight months ago! I understand that you're involved in everything shady, but that's no reason to let me think you're dead!" Kira raged.

"Are you gonna let us in the door or just stand there and scream at us?" John asked tersely.

"I think you should let me inside and leave him out here." Simon smiled.

"Riley, shut up." Soap warned.

"Stop standin' there like morons and get in here." Kira eventually huffed. She stepped to the side and the two men entered the large marble foyer. They walked a familiar maze of halls until they came to a spacious living room.

"I've only got an hour to spend with you knobs and then I'm due out of here for a meeting with some wealthy bastard who wants a house built out in Dover. Says he wants the entire south wall to be made of fucking windows."

"Kira, you're raving." Simon smiled.

"Hypocrite. At any rate, the two of you are welcome to take the southwest wing like usual. I'm assuming neither of you bothered finding a hotel anyway." Kira sighed, an acrid undertone still tinting her words.

"Look, Kira, I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in a while. We've spent most of our time halfway across the world with more bullets than phones available." Soap tried.

"Don't throw excuses at me, Johnathan Andrew MacTavish." Kira hissed.

"How have things been with you and Deign?" Ghost tried changing the subject.

"If my adoring brother would keep in touch with me, then you'd know that I left him. Four months ago." Kira's word were frigid and John treated the Lieutenant with an equally frigid glare. This conversation was not going well.

"Four months ago, I was stuck in a fucking hole with a rifle and _that_ idiot," MacTavish jerked a thumb in Riley's direction, "And no contact with anyone that wasn't giving me orders." He growled.

Kira took a breath and got up from the chair she was sitting on.

"I know you can't tell me anything that you go through, that you can't tell me where you are all the time, and you can't tell me what you do, but would it kill you to send me a goddamn _postage stamp_ with the words "I'm alive" on it?" Her voice, though softer now, carried a steel edge of intensity.

The three of them were silent for a moment before Kira sighed and muttered something under her breath.

"I'm going to get a drink. You guys want anything?" She eventually asked.

"Whatever you bring back." Ghost shrugged.

Kira turned on her heel and walked towards the kitchen. Soap turned to Riley with a cool gleam in his pale blue eyes.

"I know what you're doing, Simon." He growled.

Ghost tried playing innocent, despite the mischevious smile he wore. Before he could be called on it, Kira returned, handing her brother a glass of scotch and Simon a beer.

"I have to say, Kira, if it weren't for a conflict of interest that might arise, I'd propose to you right now." Ghost winked. Kira rolled her eyes. She was rather used to this sort of banter. She knew the ins and outs of the relationship her brother and the Lieutenant had and she knew that Riley was flirting with her only because it pissed John off.

"I think that if you proposed, interest would be the last conflict you'd have to worry over." Kira muttered dryly.

The earlier argument seemed to have been almost forgotten as John told Kira what little bit he could about what he'd been doing since the last time they'd spoken. Of course, Simon continued flirting with Kira and smirking almost triumphantly when he caught sight of the cold glares thrown in his direction.

"I have to get changed and get out of here. I'll be out of town for at least three days, so you have the house until then." Kira sighed, rubbing her eyes. She'd rather not leave town; John rarely stopped in to visit her anymore, not since he was given command of Task Force 141.

"A few ground rules before I go," She sighed.

"Kira--" Soap's protests were cut short by her piercing gaze.

"Don't trash the place. Don't drink all the booze unless you plan on replacing at least some of it. If you get pissed off at each other, _do not_, under _any_ circumstances, throw your knives at one another, _especially_ you, John. I'm tired of holes in the fucking walls. If you don't know the code to one of the doors, don't try to hack the system, _Simon_."

"With as many rules as you have, I'm surprised Soap turned out as slovenly as he did." Ghost mused.

"Riley." Soap growled with a warning tone.

"Enough. Both of you. I'm not finished. If the both of you are going to be out, you know where the spare keys are hidden. Don't leave the place unlocked. If you take one of the cars out, put gas back in the tank. The "emergency" credit card is where it always is, but please, for the love of God, don't leave your pizza and take-away boxes all over my house. Got it?" Kira asked with a menacing smile.

The two men nodded. They got the same list of rules every time they stayed with Kira. She claimed she was looking out for her brother, said it was her duty as the eldest to keep an eye on him.

"Kira, you're older than me by eleven bloody minutes. We aren't children anymore." John said through gritted teeth.

"Then stop whining like one. Fuck it all... I have to get out of here. Don't trash it all." Kira disappeared up a flight of stairs and the Soap turned on Ghost.

"I know what you're doing, and it's annoying as hell." Soap growled.

Ghost smirked at him over the lip of his beer bottle and left the sitting room they were in, walking towards the sprawling entertainment room with it's massive television and turned the channel to a soccer game in progress. He settled in on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Who's playing?" John asked as he sat down, taking up a similar position on the couch next to the Lieutenant.

"Manchester and Liverpool." Simon smirked.

They heard the sharp clicking of Kira's heels and she walked into the room, wearing an expensive-looking dress-suit and looping an earring through her ear.

"Damn. The game's on and I can't watch." She growled. She drug a duffel bag behind her and walked through the room and headed towards the garage. On her return trip, she very graciously dropped a few beers onto the table.

"Kira Jane MacTavish, I want you to marry me." Simon smiled.

"Simon James Riley, I don't think that's a good idea." Kira returned the smile with a little less sincerity.

"Give me one good reason." Riley purred, leaning closer to her.

"John looks like he's pissed. And you know how he gets when he's pissed. Now, be awesome to each other while I'm gone." She placed a kiss on her brother's cheek and shook her head at Simon before she walked out of the door.

"I warned you about flirting with my sister, Simon." John growled.

"All in good fun, Johnny, all in good fun."

MacTavish ignored the comment and watched the football game on the telly.

"I don't know why _you're_ in here. Since Manchester sold off Ronaldo, they haven't got a chance." Simon teased.

"It doesn't take much to beat Liverpool."

"We'll see..."

The game contined, with the two teams flying around each other, kicking at anything anywhere _near_ the ball, penalties be damned. Liverpool scored a goal. Simon's hands were in the air.

"Liverpool! Liverpool!" They'd gone through the beers Kira had left and wandered off to the kitchen for more during lulls in the game.

"Knock it off, Riley." John growled. He was _not_ in the mood for Ghost's teasing.

"Or what? You'll stab me?" Riley snorted, planning on heading to the kitchen. John lunged at him from the couch, taking him to the ground.

"You've been more annoying in the past hour than you usually are in a week." MacTavish hissed.

"Maybe you're just more irritable."

"I know what you're doing."

"Unlikely."

"It's just like Kira said; you know how I get when I'm pissed off, and you're doing all of this intentionally."

There was a tense moment of silence as they tried strategizing, tried anticipating the other's moves. John moved first, kissing Riley with enough force to knock his head into the hardwood, though it didn't phase either of them; it only played into their mile-wide sado-masochistic streak. John bit Simon's lower lip sharply enough to taste blood. The Lieutenant bit back a moan and pulled the Captain closer. It was when they broke to gage the blood-lust of their partner when Simon smirked, "I think you just kept me from proposing to Kira as soon as she gets back." John swung at his partner's face, and the sharp blow made Simon's teeth rattle. He landed a quick knee in MacTavish's lower back and tried switching their positions, which led to another round of fighting.

It wasn't long before Ghost found himself slammed against the wall with a calloused hand around his throat, another tugging sharply at his hair and a foreign tongue invading his mouth. With a groan, he brushed his hips against Soap's and the hand tightened around his throat only slighty. Simon wasn't pleased with that and landed a punch to John's ribs, causing the hands and the mouth to disappear. A quick jab to the solar plexus sent Simon to his knees and John grabbed the breathless Lieutenant's shirt, pulled him to his feet, and kissed him again. It was a bite-littered kiss that hurt almost as much as it pleasured, at least in John's opinion. Simon writhed and silently begged for more.

Still connected at the lips, they stumbled down the hall, biting hard enough to bruise, and eventually made their way up a flight of stairs, tearing at clothes to save time and expose more skin to damage. They broke apart when they reached the door and John growled as he punched in the code. Sometimes, security was a major pain in the ass.

When they finally wrenched the door open, they didn't take time to marvel at the familiar study with it's antique mahogany desk, or the drawing room with its massive windows and extensive book collection, or the teak-wood bar, or the kitchen. They were interested only in getting to the bedroom.

Ghost was tossed backwards onto the bed and the little bit of remaining clothing was discarded. Soap kissed his lover again, only more gently this time.

"Feeling romantic, MacTavish?" Riley teased.

"You're only pissing me off because it gets you off."

Riley growled and sank his teeth into MacTavish's shoulder, stopping only when he tasted copper on his tongue. The taste of blood was familiar, the consistancy well-known. He knew that such a mark wouldn't go unreturned and his groaned when he felt sharp teeth break the skin on his collarbone. The next kiss they shared was thick with blood and more frantic and bruising than any of the previous. While Simon was distracted, John took his hands and the press of cool metal circled Simon's wrists, a sensation that was followed by a few small clicks. Riley looked down at the handcuffs and recognized them as his own, as ones he used during interrogations.

"Restraining me with my own cuffs? Kinky." Simon smirked. John grabbed the chain between the cuffs and used it to pull Simon's hands over his head and hold them easily against the mattress. His free hand wrapped in dark brown hair and pulled his lover's head to the side, exposing an expanse of unmarked skin that was soon littered with spots of red and purple.

"Stop playing around and just _fuck me_ already." Simon growled. He enjoyed playing games and you wouldn't hear him complain about rough foreplay, but there came a point when you had to stop playing and get to the point. As much as he'd like to prolong his lover's torture, John agreed that it was time to get to the point.

There was very little in the way of preparation, aside from John spitting in his hand and using it to slick his erection. He pressed his way into the Lieutenant who responded by freeing his hands of John's grip, looping the chain to the cuffs around John's neck, and groaning in his ear. Riley's entire being was awash in a strange and familiar sea of pain-laced pleasure.

Soap waited only a few short seconds before he slammed his hips into the Lieutenant's, granting him a strangled noise that might have been a moan. Despite the intimate setting, MacTavish was still irritated over everything Riley had done, though they both knew that was why he was so irritating. He was in the mood for rough, almost angry sex, and the best way to get it was through pissing the Captain off.

The sex was fast-paced and filled with harsh movements, brusing kisses, and more bites to draw blood. Neither of them were about to moan over each other like love-sick high school kids, but that didn't stop the occasional pleased groan or panted name.

John could tell Simon was getting close to climax, could tell it by the tone of his ragged breathing, by the way his breaths were more likely to end in a grunt or a short moan than a harsh exhale. He slowed his movements, eventually stopping, and he ran a hand through Riley's hair before kissing him gently. He reangled his hips, knowing his partner well enough to know that the next thrust would hit that bundle of hyper-sensitive nerves... With quick movements, he pulled Simon's hair sharply, dug his teeth into his shoulder, and slammed into him, nearly all at once. Riley screamed and climaxed, pulling MacTavish after him.

After a few seconds of trying to catch his breath, John ducked from under the cuff chain, removed himself from his partner and laid next to him. Riley reached over the edge of the bed, picked up John's discarded boxers, cleaned himself up, and pulled the blankets around himself and his lover. John wrapped an arm around Simon, who rested his head on the Captain's shoulder.

"I wish I could say I hate you for playing your games with Kira. But I think you made up for it." John smirked.

"Hm." Simon purred.

"But if you decide to propose to her again, or if you irritate me too much, I will take you to the brink, tie you to the bed, and leave you." MacTavish whispered, his lips brushing Riley's ear.

Riley chuckled and pressed his face into the crook of his lover's neck. He closed his eyes and wondered just how sore he was going to be in the morning...

* * *

**A/N2:** Okay! So I hope that wasn't too bad... I kinda drug it on FOREVER!!!! Three cheers for hot sado-masochists, right? lol. PEASE LEAVE A REVIEW!! I've noticed a lot of favorites and alerts, and very few reviews. Please, please, please review for me. It would seriously mean a lot to me. Thanks.


	7. GREED

**A/N: **Three of seven: GREED. I feel a little shaky and giddy writing this one, 'cos I know that the second it's done, we get to enjoy LUST. Mmm... LUST... Lemony, tasty, LUST... Roach is back in this one, and he's crazier than he was in ENVY. o.o

**GaaraGirl2020:** Awh. I'm glad you liked it. And that just seems like Ghost's personality, to piss Soap off so much. :3

**Cam:** Thanks. :)

**Nadilee:** Lol. Yeah. Kira is actually pretty close to how _I_ am, lol. And I thought the full names would just help illustrate how comfortable they were with eachother outside of work.

**yeah-bled:** Bahaha. That would be awesome... Maybe send an email to iW and be like, "Look bitches. I have one hell of a following. Give me permission to bum-raep your characters and we'll all make hella cash." XD

**xania:** Yeah, Kira was John's twin. I couldn't decide who to make older, so I went with twins and gave Kira a tiny edge, lol. I worked really hard on keeping Ghost in character. He strikes me as the type of person to be completely irritating away from the 141. I wanted Kira's rules to be a little personalized towards the two of them, and the jokes were born. Your English is fine, so don't worry about it. And as long as you credit me as the original author of the work, you can put it in any language you'd like and post it anywhere you choose. :D

**MissPumpkinHead:** I kind of enjoy the whole sado-masochist thing (probably because I'm seriously masochistic myself), but I really thought it would work for these guys. And the whole irritated Soap thing is largely a sibling thing. We don't like people flirting with our brothers/sisters, even without a relationship in the mix in any sort of way. ;)

**wolfdemon22:** Du-nu-nu. Here's more. :D

**Tonnerre:** /slap. SKEPTIC!!! And now that we have that done, I'm glad I did it right, and I'm glad you enjoy them. I have a special place in my heart for "converts". XD

* * *

Avaritia: Latin for Avarice. Synonyms include Greed and Covetousness. A sin of excess; applied to excessive desire and pursuit of wealth, status, and power.

When I joined Task Force 141, it was because I was trying to prove something. Once I was granted a position within the one-four-one, I continued trying to prove myself.

Of course, most people would call me greedy for that alone, just because I've already made a statement and I continue to demand more attention, but that's a long running problem of mine.

My father, James Michael Sanderson, wasn't much of an affectionate guy. It was difficult to wring a "decent job" from the man, much less "I love you". I don't think I ever remember him saying that. I had two older brothers growing up, Eric and Nicholas, so attention from Dad was in short supply all around. Eric was the smart one. He was the one who was captain of the chess club, and the sciences club and the engineering club... When he was fourteen, he built a robot that could be programmed to make four different cocktails. Nicholas, for a while, was the brawny one. If it was a sport, he played it, and he was good at it. But the stereotype always catches up to us. Just like Eric was alienated by the cool kids, Nick eventually got slammed at a party and ended up hit by another drunk leaving the same party a few miles down the road. Completely lost one leg and was paralyzed in the other. It was his third year in college on a lacrosse scholarship that he lost.

When I told Dad that I wanted to join the military, we'd been standing in the garage where he worked. He was elbow deep in the grimy engine of a 2004 Mini Cooper and trying to figure out just why it rattled when it kicked up to second gear. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and grunted some sort of non-comittal response.

_"Why don't you go to college?" He asked me._

_"Because we can't afford it." I was replacing a timing belt on a car nearby, mostly so I could avoid making eye contact._

_"You can get a scholarship."_

_"I'm not smart like Eric and I'm not good at sports like Nick was."_

_"There's always loans."_

_"If you don't want me to join then say it." I threw the wrench to the ground and my dad stopped rummaging around in the mess of steel and grease. He straightened and wiped his hands on a rag that was almost as dirty as the inside of the engine._

_"Watch your tone, Gary. I'm not going to tell you about that again. Just make sure it's what you want."_

_"I know what I want."_

_"If you mother were still here, she wouldn't want you to--"_

_"She's gone, dad. She left years ago. We haven't even gotten a Christmas card since I entered junior high school."_

I remember that was the first reaction my father had really shown in our conversation. He almost winced, but it looked more like a tired shrug. If he had one weakness, it was Mom. He loved her up until she left and even after that. He never got over it.

When I wrote to him during boot camp, I told him how I was the best at everything they threw at us. I was half expecting him to send me a letter back telling me he was proud of me, or that I was doing a "decent job". That would have made all of the verbal and mental abuse the D.I.s put me through worth it. I instead got letters from Eric and Nick telling me that dad was back to working all the time now that I wasn't in the garage anymore. The way they worded it, I don't even think he read half the letters I wrote. Knowing him, they were probably tossed on the kitchen table until Eric found them under a pile of bills or Nick decided to "stop being useless", as he put it, and "do something helpful" by cleaning up.

The graduation ceremony brought more disappointment. Eric showed up with his fiancee. Nick had physical therapy. He was able to move a few of the muscles in his left calf and the doctors were suddenly hopeful that he'd gain some degree of movement. Eric didn't have a reason for Dad's absence, though he swore up and down that Dad was proud of me in his own way.

When Task Force 141 picked me up from the ground-pounders, I sent a quick letter back to Dad. He sent me a letter saying Gram wanted to know if I was going to be home for Christmas dinner and a picture of him in front of the garage shaking hands with a man I'd never seen before. He'd sold the garage and retired. No mention of my achievements.

So I made it my mission to make rank as quickly as I could. I wanted to be better than everyone else. I wanted him to smile at me, just fucking once. He smiled at Eric when he was accepted to MIT at fifteen. He smiled at Nicholas when he got into Harvard on a full scholarship for lacrosse. It seems he only grimmaced in my direction.

Being on a special operations team, it was easier to pick up rank and collect accolades like no one else could. I wrote home everytime it happened. I got more letters from my brothers. It wasn't enough. I'd have to be a General or some fucking world leader for him to bother writing to me. I had to try harder. I had to rank up as fast as I could.

It started off with just cozying up to Ghost. I did what I was told. I never complained. I did things I _wasn't_ ordered to do if they needed to be done, just because he was the closest thing to an XO our operation had and everything went through him. I don't know when it started, but I eventually started cozying up to the Captain, tried to make it into his good books. I'd pray every night for a transfer to a high-profile unit that guaranteed promotions every few months.

Needless to say, the transfer never came. But the team dynamic changed. I don't know how the conversation between the Captain and the Lieutenant went, but things between the three of us changed again.

I was stuck in Chile with Ghost playing security detail for some pathetic fucking HVI. We were in some crumbling hotel waiting our turn to take over watch when he looked at me and said something about missing MacTavish. Next thing I know we're fucking like bunnies and trying to keep the noise down. I have to admit, Riley's a bit of a natural when it comes to figuring out what a guy likes.

A month later, I was in Vladivostok with the Captain, secretly looking in on a massive shipment of plutonium that was due in. MacTavish's favorite informant, Nicholai, had us set up in a house near the base and gave us a way in. We were in the house waiting for the ship to dock when Captain MacTavish mentioned I had the same anxious habit as Ghost; I was digging the tip of my knife into the wooden windowsill over and over, occasionally stopping to carve something. I think there were five minutes between comment and penetration.

It was a few months after "The Vladivostok Encounter" when I realized what I'd become. I was whoring myself out for rank and prestiege.(1) Worse, I was okay with it. I had to do what needed to be done. I knew what I had to do. I had to gain as much power as I could and then I had to write home about it. I had to earn what was rightfully mine...

When I picked up Sergeant a hell of a lot faster than I probably should have, I wrote to Dad about it. I got a letter from Eric saying Dad had pneumonia and it wasn't looking good. I requested a week of leave to see him. The Captain rushed the request through and by breakfast the next morning, I had my answer; but I knew ahead of time it would be approved.

I gathered up every ribbon and medal and took them to his hospital room; every award they'd given me in my military career, all stuck in a box. I laid them out for him and waited for him to smile in my direction. He only asked how I got them as a mechanic. I told him I traded Jeep parts for bullets and he shook his head. My every achievement laid out infront of him, and he couldn't do anything but shake his head. I packed everything up and told him I promised to visit Nicholas in a few minutes. He shrugged and waved me away.

I didn't use the entire week of leave. I was back on base after three days. I decided I was going to have to sleep my way to the top of the fucking food chain. There was no other way. I was going to gain as much power as I could, and then there would be no way the old man could be anything but proud of me. I think the only reason I wanted the wizened old bastard to pull through was so I could rub an impossible rank in his smug fucking face.

Never got the chance. Almost a month later, I got a letter that was written in mostly-smudged ink from Nick, telling me Dad died. I went to the funeral. I stood over his casket with the stoic expression he always showed when he was around me. I wish I could say I was choked up about his death. I was just pissed that he'd died before praising me even once. I think I might have glowered a bit as the casket was dropped.

I remember sitting at home with Eric and Nick while we waited for the lawyer to show up and read the old man's will to us. I sat on the old, threadbare couch Mom had picked out years ago and stared at the stained armchair that was Dad's. Eric and Nick kept asking if I was okay. I kept telling them that I was fine and they didn't need to worry about me.

The lawyer finally showed up half an hour after we did. He read through the will. The house was left to Nicholas. The old cars in the back were split between my brothers, with an old Chevy Impala going to me. He left most of his money to Eric. I didn't care. Eric was expecting twins soon. He needed the money more than I did. Nicholas needed a way to cover his physical therapy. He could take what he wanted.

I got next to nothing. That was fine with me. I never expected the old man to leave me much. Eric and Nick were the favorites. The bastard was dead now. No point in getting worked up. Though I have to admit, I was a little surprised when the lawyer handed me the address and key to a storage unit a few miles from the house.

I insisted on going alone, expecting to find a bunch of used-up car parts and greasy engine rags. Maybe the shell of some piece of shit car. Imagine my surprise when I found a '67 Mustang sitting under a tarp in damn good condition. In the backseat was a uniform that looked like it had seen better days forty years ago.

I sat on the seat and ran my hands over the faded ribbons and medals honoring my father for wars that were forgotten everywhere but the textbooks. The rank and buttons were tarnished beyond repair and I found a slightly yellowed envelope in one of the pockets.

_"Gary, I hope you've forgiven me by the time you've got to read this, because the only way you're reading this is if I'm dead. Your mother had nothing to do with me wanting to keep you out of the military. That was all me. I'd traveled that road once, in case you've forgotten, which is likely. I don't like talking about those years I spent running from hiding spot to hiding spot with a bolt-action sniper rifle and waiting for that one shot... I was hoping you'd avoid that road if you could. It's not that I wasn't ever proud of you for joining, but the fact of the matter is that I was afraid to tell you I was proud of you because I wanted you to do something a little less damning. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you Gary. Always have been. I love you."_

I wish I could say that was the end of my problem with obsessing over gaining more power. It made things worse. Now I had to live up to the expectations of a dead man. Now I had to work twice as hard to make sure I didn't ruin the pride he had in me before he died.

Christ, I don't even know why I'm writing this anymore... I'm headed back to Russia with the Captain first thing tomorrow; The sneaky bastards got their hands on an ACS module and we have to go and get it back. Maybe I'm paranoid or just losing it, but I don't feel like I'll have the chance to explain myself after this. Man, I hope I'm wrong...

* * *

**A/N2:** Awh. Poor Roach. =/ This one is kinda sad, and the slash is more of an allusion than an out-right statement, but I figured it worked. I couldn't figure a way to work greed in any other way... I think it sucks... But trust me. Lust... Mmm... If you don't have to worry about a nosebleed, check your pulse. ;)


	8. LUST

**A/N:** This fic is very anti-fluff. But it's LUST, not love. This one got away from me somehow, and every time I read through it, I find another line that I don't really remember writing, but really enjoy reading. Hope you guys like it as much as I do. ;D

**yeah-bled:** Awh. I'm glad you liked it. :3

**GothicBandicoot:** I'm glad you liked them.

**Nadilee:** I love whore Roach as much as you do. It seems to fit... He seems to be undeniably clumsy and he doesn't appear to be much of a conversationalist in the game, so we must assume Soap and Ghost put up with him for _other_ reasons. /evil grin.

**MissPumpkinHead:** It took me a lot of time to get used to writing in first person, but I'm glad you think I did a good job. It was kinda difficult for me to put myself in that mindset. I'm really glad you liked that one.

**Astaldo Ungol:** Wow... Thanks so much for that review. :3 The first time I played through Modern Warfare 2, the thing that really struck me was the level "Takedown" when everyone was shooed away while Soap and Ghost stayed behind to interrogate the "informant" (as the first chapter suggests). And it doesn't help any that I have a dear (and gorgeous) friend of mine currently in the Army and on deployment in Afghanistan, and when we were in high school together, I used to pair him up in my head with other guys in our classes, so I know what you mean. X3 I promise, it's gonna take a lot to get me to leave this story behind, especially once I get my hands on Ghost's comic book collection. (Yes, I'm a sad, sad little fangirl) It might get a lot worse than that if Infinity Ward releases Ghost-centric DLC for the 360 like they've been hinting... :D

_

* * *

__"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militarizes, it tyrannizes."_

It was originally said by Marquis De Sade, but Soap had heard it from Captain John Price. It was something that few people really knew; Captain Price enjoyed quotes, enjoyed memorizing them and using them when he decided they were needed. He knew that Price had meant it to do with the lust for power, but that was the thing about quotes; they could be taken in a multitude of ways.

It was day three stuck in a hole dug into the side of some god-forsaken hill with sniper rifle scopes pressed against clear blue eyes. The days had begun to bleed together as John MacTavish and Simon Riley lay baking in the sweltering Brazilian heat. The foliage around them served only to capture water and increase humidity, offering only a negligable amount of shade. They hardly noticed the environment around them and virtually ignored even their basic needs in favor of laying as still as possible, lest the sun hit their scopes at the perfect angle and send a flashing glint of light as a warning. They couldn't afford to miss this target. It was the reason they were snipers; A single shot could end a war before it started. The entire unwritten history of the world, changed in one blinding muzzle flash, altered in a deafening crack, rearranged in a jarring recoil.

"There they are." Soap murmured softly.

The door to the tiny shack they'd been watching swung open and their target and two of his personal guards exited the building. Ghost licked his lips behind his balaclava and tasted sweat. He ignored it and watched the two casual-looking men scanning the area. The Captain would get the bastard Sheperd sent them after, Ghost would kill the guards and make sure there was no one around to sound the alarm while they booked it back to a more populated area where they could "hide" while waiting for transport back to base.

Ghost's finger slid from the trigger guard to the trigger itself and he waited...

_Thump...Thump...Thump...Thump..Thump...**CRACK**...Thump..._ John took his shot, timed it perfectly, timed it between breaths and heartbeats. He smirked with satisfaction as a glorious pink mist swirled in the faint breeze that had kicked up a few minutes prior. (1)

_Thump...Thump...Thump...Thump...**CRACK**...Thump..._ Ghost's shot had to be timed a little better, but he managed to kill both of the guards with a single bullet. There was something satisfying about knowing that he was capable of something that should have been an impossibility. He was sitting two miles away with a Barrett M107 .50 caliber, and he'd killed two men with a single, skull-shattering pull of a trigger. There was a strange, calm elation that flooded his veins, despite how hyped up he was from the adrenaline rush.

"Time to get out of here." Soap said gruffly. They quickly collapsed their rifles, tore off their ghillie suits, stuffed them into their packs, and sprinted towards the jeep they'd hidden in a ravine.

They drove faster than was probably necessary, but the rush, the endorphins, the overpowering need to just _move_ was overwhelming. Ghost was still reliving the muscle straining recoil of his rifle when they arrived at the less-than-ritzy house they'd "comandeered". It had electricity and running water, which was more than could be said for most of their resting places, it also had real beds, which was more of a luxury than it should have been.

Even with the pitiful air conditioner running, it was still far too hot inside the tiny shack. Ghost peeled his balaclava away from his face and his Kevlar followed. He pushed his shirt over his head and cracked his neck. His dark brown hair was dampened with sweat and so was his shirt. He glanced at the Captain and saw that he wasn't the only one who decided it was too hot inside...

Riley could feel his hands trembling as the adrenaline of playing God began to fade, but he was still too keyed up to even consider relaxing. He could tell Soap was in a similar situation by the way he was staring blankly out the window while his fingers drummed idly against the 1911 that was always strapped to his thigh. Riley's mind raced through a thousand different "combat" scenarios in an instant. He decided on a plan of action and knew that it was going to either work perfectly in giving him what he wanted, or it was going to end in a nasty fist fight.

The rush wouldn't be leaving Riley any time soon and he knew it. He knew that his only option was to go forward with his plan. He stepped forward, crossing the small living room in a step and a half. His left hand shot out and wrapped around John's right wrist and the fingers stopped tapping. The Captain seemed as if he were going to say something, but the words were lost as Simon's lips covered his.

A secondary spike of adrenaline sent sparks down John's spine and made Simon's skin tingle. John wrenched his hand from Simon's grasp and grabbed ahold of dark brown hair, not caring that it was dampened with sweat and caked with dirt. This new rush was quickly sweeping in and replacing the fading thrill of a series of perfect kills. Their tongues desperately pressed against each other and they were both suddenly made painfully aware of how much they needed this rush. The only thing on either of their minds was the room at the end of the hall that held a lumpy mattress on a rickety bedframe. John pushed his subordinate back towards the hallway and Riley stumbled backwards with a low growl; he knew what MacTavish wanted, but he sure as hell wasn't going to just give up control like that. He lunged at the Captain and slammed him aganst the wall before he forced his tongue into the Scotsman's mouth. Soap bit at Ghost's lips and tongue and forced the Brit to beat a hasty retreat. Riely was trying to settle on a new plan of action when all thoughts of attack fell from the forefront of his consciousness; John had moved his mouth and was now nipping at Riley's neck, leaving purple hickies and reddened impressions of his teeth to appropriately lay claim to his conquest. Riley made the fatal mistake of moaning softly and Soap smirked against his partner's neck. The quirking of chapped lips against dirt-smudged skin alerted Ghost to his mistake all too late. He'd showed weakness, and the information was going to be used against him in the upcoming fight.

Their lips were soon reattached and Riley was pushed backwards again. This time, he stumbled down the hallway like MacTavish intended him to. He'd lost that battle, and this was the consequence. The back of his head, and the rest of him, collided with the wall near the bed with a sharp crack and he winced as his left elbow went through the cheap, crumbling plaster wall. John didn't acknowledge the reaction, or the damage to the bedroom wall, and instead continued to bite at Simon's neck, shoulders and chest. The Lieutenant tried desperately to hold back the gasps and moans that tried to break free from behind his lips, desperately tried to keep a little "intel" for himself. It wasn't working so well. It was like the Captain _knew_ what to to to make his "adversary" a weaker man.

This game soon began to bore John and the sudden rush went from a screaming war-cry to an irritating buzz in the back of his mind. He shoved his fellow sniper back onto the bed and Riley fell with a scowl. Weapons began to disappear, though John's seemed to be removed more slowly. The show of dominance, power, and control wasn't lost on Riley, who bared his teeth in irritation. The silent snarl soon disappeared as MacTavish's bulky form was lowered onto his own and their lips met in a painfully bruising kiss. Simon's fingers reached for the button on John's pants and he tugged it free. He did a few quick mental calculations and tried to see which way would be the best to get from under John, but it seemed the Captain had thought of that as well. They were squarely in the middle of the bed and there was nowhere to go, lest they end up on the floor and the rush be lost forever to the complications of a concussion. He snarled his dissatisfaction at his superior and bit back at him a little harder than was necessary. John didn't seem to notice the damage done. He was focused on reaching his goal, and that goal was to fuck Riley.

The Lieutenant wasn't happy with how quickly his remaining clothes disappeared while the Captain's dissappeared with a slow deliberateness. He knew that it was all a show of power, but he wasn't used to being on the losing side of the war. There was a slight lull in their actions and their blue eyes met. There was a tense and silent moment where they both tried to read each other, cursing the training they'd both received to be unreadable. It wasn't making this situation any easier. The only sounds were their own shortened breaths and the faint humm of traffic a half a klick away, but eventually even that faded away as they focused on the sound of their hearts that beat in time, following an unheard cadence. In those few short moments, John formulated a new plan of attack and worked out all the details.

Soap ducked his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his partner's lips, his tongue tracing their outline and politely asking for entrance. Ghost teasingly parted them only slightly, curious to the reaction he would get. It was a violent entry and subsequent ravashing of his mouth that made him arch his back. John's hand slid between their bodies and teasingly squeezed Simon's erection, receiving a choked moan in response. Riley's teeth caught at MacTavish's earlobe and he sighed sharply, the closest to a whimper he'd come since he was in primary school. Soap got the general idea, but he wasn't done playing his little game. His movements remained violent enough to ensure there was no questioning his dominanace, but he also made sure he was doing less than was necessary to give Simon any sort of measurable satisfaction. He was one hell of a fucking tyrant, and Ghost wasn't happy with that. John gripped Simon's face and stared down into angry pools of blue with a nearly sadistic smile. Riley's hand slid up MacTavish's arm and he took the Captain's wrist into his hand and slid his tongue across the calloused palm. He was rewarded with a display of "weakness" from his partner, a quiet grunt and a change in the gleam in his eyes. Ghost knew what he was doing; he could feel the reaction in the heavy beating of Soap's heart reverberating through his own chest. His tongue again slithered over the hand and it soon disappeared, slid through the miniscule gap between their bodies. John used the saliva from his conquest to lubricate his member in preparation for what was to come.

There was no sort of warning. They were beyond words, far beyond words. The rush of lust was all that mattered to them; their minds had been dominated by the pursuit of that adrenaline-laced pleasure and there was no hope of escaping it now. Ghost's teeth snapped together with audible force at the sharp pain of being penetrated with no preparation. A low, rumbling growl slid through Simon's clenched teeth, one that almost sounded animalistic and Soap wated only for a few short seconds before he snapped his hips forward.

Too many years of living with agony made this pain negligable. Too many years of ignoring pleasure in favor of coping with pain made this new pleasure flare up with an imposible to comprehend intensity. Riley gasped at the sudden flash of colored sparks that floated past his vision as the Captain did _something_ that made _everything_ fade away that wasn't the bed, wasn't John. His hands wrapped around the base of John's neck and his short fingernails managed to break the delicate skin there, though neither of them seemed to notice. The continuing slide of the Captain in him was beginning to make the Lieutenant lose his coherence. There was no more room for combat scenarios or a fight-or-flight reaction. There was only "lust's passion" that they were serving dutifully. There were sharp breaths and short moans as the two of them gave into primal desires.

There was something clawing at the back of Simon's mind, something that curled around his consciousness with an unrelenting iron grasp. It was suffocating his rationality and blocking out his sanity. He didn't care. He didn't have the time or the energy or the power of will to care. His teeth clicked together again in a vague attempt at a warning. John grunted some sort of vague acknowledgement and they both knew the other was close to that downward spiral. It soon became a bit of a competition, seeing who could hold back the longest, to see who could outlast whom. John won, but only by a few precious seconds.

Post-coitus, there wasn't much said. They lay on the bed that was nearly too small for the both of them to lay side-by-side, waiting for their breathing to slow.

"That was one hell of a rush." John finally admitted after a few minutes.

"That it was."

"Care for a second round, just to see if the rush loses its potency?"

Simon smirked and agreed. They had time to kill and a rush to ride.

* * *

(1) I was watching this show "Fight Science" and they were testing "Super Soliders" and one of the guys they brought on was a Marine Corps Scout Sniper that literally fired between heartbeats to improve his accuracy. I was watching that and I was just "Fuck yes. MW2. Let's get in on that. :D"


	9. PRIDE

**A/N:** PRIDE... this one was a little difficult, but not too hard. I know a lot of you are expecting me to struggle with SLOTH, but I have a concept for that one already... This one was just a pain in the ass because I wasn't sure how to end it right... I still don't think I pulled it off, but I'm technically working three jobs this week (I'm just glad I'm out of class on spring break) and I'm totally fucking exhausted.

**Angel of the Godless:** Yes, the anon flamer was dutifully ignored... Though I am a little miffed that they would go steal the names of others... But anyway! I enjoy working the realism into things because without realism, what is it? Useless and painful drivel, that's what! I'm glad you found Crazy(!) Roach believable. That one took a little bit of working, just because no one knows anything about him. I have actually beaten campaign at least two dozen times just to watch the NPC's interact and listen to the dialogue and the cutscenes to make sure I have them as close to in character as they can be. My brother thinks I'm a freak. XD But I'm glad my updates make you so happy.

**yeah-bled:** Awh. Thanks for that. I'm working on a book... I just need to find the willpower to stop procrastinating. XD

**GothicBandicoot:** Thanks. :3

**PhonyPrincess:** Oh, it would be awesome... But for now, I'm going to stick to the whole ranking system they have in place. For the moment, Soap will be the dominating personality... But I have an idea or three where Ghost turns the tables... /evil grin.

**xania:** Well, while playing through "Loose Ends" Ghost _is_ off sniping with Toad and Archer, so I have to assume he's pretty damn good at what he does. And, unfortunately, the URL for the translations didn't come through. FanFiction doesn't like you putting other websites on their websites. :/ Just tell me if it was (dot)com or (dot)net or whatever. I _have_ to see this. My posts have finally gone bilingual!!!! Thanks for that. Thanks A TON!!

**MissPumpkinHead:** I worked on making that one hot, probably harder than I should have. XD And I like including outside information like that, because I think that it's important to do your research on a topic, even if it's "just" FanFiction. That and it's totally badass to be able to do shit like shoot between heartbeats. XD

**Astaldo Ungol:** Pft. Are you kidding me? I fangirl squeel everytime I _get_ a review, even after doing this for four years (Christ I'm getting old...). And yes, there has been talk of spin-off's and specialized DLC... I almost got into a fist fight with my brother because I wanted to buy Ghost's outfit for my Xbox 360 Avatar and he didn't want to spend that many Microsoft points. Needless to say, parental involvement settled the match and I still don't have the Ghost outfit. -_-' I'm still looking for the comics, but I have an idea of where I might be able to find them... I just have to look into it. And don't worry about rambling reviews. They really make me happy. Truth be told, I enjoy the longer reviews more... ... ... Dammit... Now I feel like a mother who just picked a favorite child in front of all the other children. XD But thanks for the review. :3

* * *

The thing about the pain was that it was somewhere between blindingly hot and biting cold, like one of those things "so cold it burns". Soap shuddered and looked down at his chest with a grimace. The pain was enough to make him nauseous and he wondered what had gone wrong. He pressed his hand to the bleeding wound and hissed at the pain.

_"Soap! Where the fuck are you?"_ The English lilt had never before sounded so comforting as it pushed through the harsh crackling static of their communication systems.

"I ducked into a movie store on the left side of the street." Soap rasped. There was a pause on the other end and John knew what was going on.

_"How bad is it?"_ Ghost finally asked. Trust Simon to know when something was wrong.

"Bad. Just hurry up and get over here."

John looked down at the hole in his chest again and he cringed. Christ... What had gone wrong? He tilted his head back and rested it against the rough concrete wall behind him. His eyes closed and he began to watch the instant replay flash behind his eyelids.

_"Ghost! You and Roach move up the left side!" John yelled._

_There were too many enemies and not enough cover. Too many bullets, and too many of them headed in the direction of the one-four-one members. John was pressed against a low barrier, waiting for the AK fire to at least slow down a little._

_"MacTavish! We have a route to this side!" Ghost called through the comms._

_"Hold your position! I'm coming up the right side!"_

_"Soap, don't do anything stupid and--"_

_"Cut the chatter, Ghost."_

_John released the mic that laid around his throat. The conversation was done. There was a break in the firing and he stole out into the street firing his weapon in controlled bursts and trying his damndest to keep as much cover between him and the enemy as possible. Bullets slammed into the wall near him as the Tangos fired blindly in his direction. He ducked into a small house and waited for a break in the hailstorm of bullets. He stuck his head through the opening in the door and nearly lost it as at least half a magazine whizzed by his head, far too close for comfort. He retreated back into the house and dashed up the stairs. The vantage point here was better. Ghost had no reason to be worried. He was more than capable of handling himself in this situation._

_After eliminating the targets, Soap hurried down the stairs and exited the house, returning to the street. He pressed forward. He could clear this street out just fine on his own and then they wouldn't have to worry about being flanked while they were making their escape. The fewer loose ends, the better off they were. He picked up movement in his peripheral vision and he turned in time to catch an enemy reloading. He solved the problem in a single controlled burst. _

_"Soap! Where the hell are you?" Ghost demanded._

_"I'm on my way. Just keep your head down and make sure Roach does the same!"_

_MacTavish ducked into a side alley and pressed his back against the rough brick, taking comfort in the knowledge that no one would be able to sneak up on him. He quickly reloaded his MP5K and took a deep breath. He walked back out into the street and scanned it quickly. He didn't have time for surprises, but then again, he could handle any sort of surprise that could be thrown at him._

**_CLINK._**

_Soap stopped for a brief moment. He knew that sound. He would know it anywhere. He had heard it enough times to know that sound; heard it enough times to know exactly what it meant. He quickly scanned the rubble-strewn street, looking for the death wrapped in a metal sphere. He couldn't see it... Fuck... Where had it landed? Where would be a safe zone? A thousand thoughts in the blink of an eye. He ducked into the nearest open door, but it was too late._

_The grenade had cooked for two of the necessary three seconds _before _it had been thrown. He'd spent one and a half seconds thinking and looking for it. The explosion sent shock waves through the air, kicking dust and gravel into the air and in all directions. Shrapnel embedded itself in the crumbling walls and exposed wooden support beams of the building. Soap coughed violently in a vain attempt at dislodging small bits of debris and a large amount of dust from his lungs. He reached for his dropped weapon and fell short with a pained cry. Of course he was wounded. And it didn't look pretty. But the thing about the pain was that it was somewhere between blindingly hot and biting cold, like one of those things "so cold it burned"._

John forced his eyes open. He needed to stay alert and awake. There was no telling how long his eyes had been closed. The enemy could be just outside the door and he wouldn't know it because he'd been too busy half-sleeping. There was a sudden burst of gunfire from the street and he sat up straighter. He gripped his weapon with cool determination and kept focused on the open doorway. He had to be ready. Footsteps kicked rubble aside and MacTavish didn't recognize them. It sounded odd, but he knew what it sounded like when Ghost and Roach walked. Roach walked heavy, heel first, typical of an American Army ground-pounder(1). Ghost's footsteps were echoes of footsteps, almost not there, calculated, measured, even, on time, sticking to the same tempo, without fail. These didn't belong to his men.

The man had only just appeared in the doorway when Soap pulled the trigger. A few stray bullets landed in the wall near his head and showered him with a spray of plaster of Paris or whatever else was holding the dilapidated structure together. It didn't matter. He didn't register the white dust. He felt only agony in his chest and a twisted sense of satisfaction as his would-be-killer fell backwards with anger and confusion in his black eyes. There was a sudden click and John's satisfaction faded. Bullets: gone. Grenades: used. Throwing knives: lost. Tactical knife: not much, but all he had. His hand curled around the handle and he stared at the doorway. He wondered for a moment if he would have been better off listening to Ghost...

_"Generostity is giving more than you can, pride is taking less than you need."(2)_ He needed ammunition. He needed cover. He needed _help_, but he wouldn't admit that. He pushed himself up a little straighter and bit his hand hard to stifle a scream. There was definitely about a kilo of shrapnel sitting between his lungs... He coughed and his faded black glove was stained dark in spots from fresh blood. The pain and the bloodloss were making him feel dizzy and lightheaded. He took a few choking breaths and forced himself to stay with it. His eyes began to close and lose focus and he fought against the sensation.

A sharp accent cut through the haze and he looked up. Light brown eyes, almost a tawny yellow. Elfin features. Sloppily cut black hair. Sergeant Sanderson.

"He's responsive." Roach muttered. He gently peeled Soap's hand away from the wound and blanched. Ghost took a look and cringed.

"You're always getting yourself into these impossible situations and then you insist that you can handle yourself." Ghost growled. He pulled a wad of gauze from his pack and kept the gentility to a minimum as he shoved it against the wound. Soap grunted in response and his vision blacked around the edges.

"Not now, Simon." John ordered weakly.

The conversation halted abruptly, but it was clear that it would continue later. They made it a point to argue in private, mostly because Ghost's cool demeanor ensured he looked at the situation from all points and therefore had all his bases covered, which meant Soap usually ended up losing. Riley pushed his sunglasses up and looked at the wound in his lover's chest.

"Riley, he's looking kinda pale." Roach murmured.

"That tends to happen when you're stupid and get yourself blown up; you suffer blood loss and shock." Ghost muttered.

"Not now, Simon." Soap repeated.

They helped Soap to his feet and started dragging him through the streets towards the path cleared earlier. Every step brought a new wave of agony to crash over Soap, and he choked and gasped as they moved. He leaned heavily on Roach, trusting Ghost more to watch their backs and eliminate threats. He was pleasantly surprised when the coast was clear.

"I bloody told you to come up the right side." Ghost muttered, as if he could sense the Captain's thoughts.

"Riley, shut the fuck up." Soap ordered.

He decided that nothing had ever looked more inviting than the AC130 that was going to give them a ride home. Except for maybe the needle of morphine they managed to find for him.

"You can't do it all by yourself, no matter how hard you try."

Soap rolled his eyes. It hadn't even been two days since "the grenade incident" and he was already geting lectured.

"Thanks for the reminder." John muttered dryly.

Riley closed his eyes and kept his temper in check. John's pride was always in the way. It didn't matter what they were doing, he had to do it bigger, better, faster, and on his own.

"Stop being so fucking stubborn!" The bitter comment cut through the air as sharply as the accent(3).

John turned his attention to Gary, who was leaning awkwardly against the wall. It was a not-so-well-kept secret that he had the hots for the Captain. And the Lieutenant. He was there to make sure the two of them didn't rip each other to shreds.

"Watch your tone, _Sergeant_." Soap warned.

Roach rolled his eyes and muttered something to himself about ranks and moving through them(4).

"Sanderson, why don't you step outside for a moment." Ghost's tone left no room for question. It wasn't a request. It was just an order without the yelling.

Roach slipped out of the room and closed the door behind himself. Riley sat down on the edge of the Captain's bed and kissed him almost gently, mindful of the various tubes and machines and the painfully obvious patched hole in his lover's chest.

"There were about fifteen minutes on that AC130 where I thought I'd never get to do that again."

It was unspoken, but still there; there had been a moment or three where Simon had been _scared_. Scared John would die. John nodded. He would never apoligize, but he would at least make an attempt at more caution and less pride, but only so he'd never have to hear that tone in Riley's voice again.

* * *

**(1)**: They never specified Roach's military branch or even what country he's from, and I figured this would work somehow, seeing as how Sheperd works with the US Army frequently, I decided: Why the hell not? :3

**(2): **The quote is by Khalil Gibran, not me.

**(3):** I know I keep mentioning his accent as "sharp", and I know a lot of you are going to wonder what I mean by that, and it's simple: I'm an American girl with a serious accent fetish. Like, a serious accent fetish, espeically when concerned with the UK/Australia. And the fact of the matter is this: When I listen to a Scottish accent (like Soap's), there are certain syllables that just sound softer. It's hard for me to describe. But if you have a Scot say something and then an American say the same thing, the American accent just sounds sharper and harsher to me... Anwyay...

**(4):** Yes, this is me, tooting my own horn and giving a throwback to my own story. Greed follows us everywhere... XD


	10. SLOTH

**A/N:** **_PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU START THE STORY!!!_**Now, I know this may be a little confusing, but SLOTH is set shortly after GLUTTONY takes place, so Soap and Ghost are on leave and are in Scotland with John's sister (my OC) Kira. I could think of no better place for these two to laze about than with Kira. ;3 Also! Just a little warning: There are a shit ton of footnotes for this one... got a little carried away I guess... Oh well. :D

**GothicBandicoot:** I'm glad you liked it. :3

**yeah-bled:** Heheh. My "boyfriend" (don't even ask me to define it/explain) is my beta reader for the books. :D I was a little surprised when I found out he didn't mind slash. It's not really his favorite thing to read, but he is totally fine with my yaoi addiction. XD

**MissPumpkinHead: **I try to make sure there's more to my work than just smut... I mean, those are hella fun to read and all, but sometimes you want a little... more... You know? Anyway... I'm really glad you liked the stories. :)

* * *

There was a mechanical grinding and an organic cracking coming from somewhere in the houe. John recognized it as the sound of Kira sharpening another pencil. He opened his eyes and was pleased to find the room was bathed in warm sunlight. They had finally managed to override that internal alarm clock and "over sleep". It was nice to wake up _after_ sunrise. Next to him, Simon sighed in his sleep and his right hand curled into a loose fist. John pulled him closer and the Lieutenant's eyes snapped open. He looked around the room for a moment before scowling in dissatisfaction.

"You're making us lazy, John." He accused.

"When was the last time we got to sleep in?"

Riley continued muttering to himself, but he gave in. It _was_rather nice to be able to sleep beyond the first sickly gray streaks of sunshine. They lay there for nearly half an hour, listening to the sound of Kira's music floating through the house from another wing and watching the sun slowly creep up the walls. Riley eventually forced himself out of bed and to the slate-tiled shower. He stepped through the gothic-style arch(1) and started the water flow. He stood under the steaming hot water and grudgingly admitted to himself that it _was_ nice to be able to move at a speed that wasn't three paces of "rush" or "hurry". He was very nearly done when John decided to join him, but Riley made it known that he wasn't in the mood for any games.

He headed towards the kitchen where he heard Kira singing and clanking in the kitchen. She was making something...

"Morning, Simon." She smiled over her shoulder. He was sometimes surprised by how much Kira and John were alike. They both had the same way of knowing when he was around. He knew it was because John could hear his footsteps, no matter how quietly he walked, but that was part of his training. Kira just seemed to instinctively _know_. They had that same crooked smile that was just a softer and wider version of a smirk.

Kira's arctic blue eyes gleamed softly in his direction, as if she _knew_ what he was thinking. John had the same unnerving look.

"Where's my brother?" Kira asked as she flipped a pancake.

"Still in the shower, last I saw of him."

"Hm. Keep on with the pancakes while I start the eggs, yeah?" Kira asked.

Simon nodded and took over her place by the edge of the stove. She stood next to him and started warming a pan for a batch of eggs. Riley took the current cooked pancake off the pan and set it to the side and started another one. He frowned when he realized there was pancake batter on the side of his hand. He shrugged and idly brushed it against the leg of his jeans. He wasn't planning on going anywhere today, except for maybe the living room. John entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Ew. You're seriously drinking that black." Kira's face crinkled up. She wasn't a huge fan of drinking black coffee. She needed milk and sugar and possibly some kind of flavoring added to her coffee for it to be considered tolerable. John and Simon had spent too much time drinking piss-poor coffee without the luxuries of milk and sugar to take it any other way. Just the fact that the coffee wasn't _burnt_ was good enough for them.

Riley snatched the coffee mug from John's hands and the Captain muttered something under his breath and made himself a new cup. Kira shook her head and went back to her eggs.

"So, do you boys have a plan of attack for today?" Kira asked casually.

"John has decided we're going to do as little as possible." Riley still sounded a little irritated.

"Good. Perfect, actually. I have a new room design that needs to be tested." Kira grinned.

John raised an eyebrow at Simon, who just shrugged. Kira was difficult to understand.

"Help me carry all of this to the table." Kira ordered.

They grabbed plates of pancakes and bacon and eggs and a fruit salad to the table. Breakfast was always a casual and quiet affair with Kira, which was something the two men were thankful for. John was engrossed in reading a newspaper article regarding deteriorating conditions between the US and Russia. Next to him sat Simon who was reading a magazine article on a new handgun that was small enough to be hidden just about anywhere without sacrificing stopping power. (2) Kira was entertaining herself by reading an architectural magazine and muttering about some sort of new super adhesive that could, in theory, replace the need for nails and screws in certain support structures.(3)

When breakfast was finished, the dishes were carried into the kitchen where a member of Kira's private staff began washing them. John always felt a little guilty leaving work up to someone else, but Claire had been working for Kira for a long time and she continually bragged about how housekeeping was her dream job because it gave her an outlet for her Obssessive Compulsive Disorder. He smiled at Claire and she smiled in return.

They followed Kira down a few long hallways and down a flight of stairs they never took before. She was humming softly to herself and trailing her fingertips along the wall as she walked. They came to a large black door and she stopped short in front of it. She reached out and her long fingers skipped along the keys of a code-entry pad and the light below the doorknob flashed green. She swung the door open and motioned for the two men to enter.

The room was huge. The ceiling was easily ten feet up and painted a dark blue color that nearly looked black. The recessed lighting was dimmed considerably, casting everything in a warm, almost candle-light-like glow. The walls were done in a dark green that somehow looked good with the blue ceiling and dark cherry-wood floors. The three couches were white and sat fifteen feet or so in front of a fully-stocked bar and thirty feet away from one of the largest television screens John and Simon had ever seen. The low coffee tables were made of driftwood and polished to a shine that was nothing short of gorgeous. There was an off white door that Kira told them lead to a full bathroom and near that was a solid wood door that led to a bedroom.

"I worked on this new insulation system that's supposed to really isolate the room and keep the noise out. It's the perfect entertainment room. I just need to give it a real test. And since you guys aren't doing anything today... I figured we could hang out." Kira's grin was somewhere between sheepish that she was actually _asking_ her brother and his "boyfriend" (it was a word that _both _men disliked using) to hang out, and mischevious because she knew they were firmly in the mindset to do nothing, meaning they weren't going to turn her down.

John and Simon, predictably, relented. Kira's grin grew a few molars and she shoved them down on to one of the couches, grabbed a bottle of scotch and three glasses from the bar and a remote from the teak coffee table, and started a movie.

"You planned this all out, didn't you?" Simon asked, thoroughly suspicious.

"Uh huh." Kira nodded and her bouncing curls made her seem much younger than she really was. Simon shook his head and took the glass of scotch she was holding in his direction. The movie started playing and he recognized it as some "feel-good" film made in the 1970's about a summer camp made of misfits and social rejects competing against a summer camp composed of wealthy and socially affluent children. (4) It was entertaining enough, and the volume was movie theater loud, which was fine by John and Simon. Too many years of grenades and bullets had done a bit of damage to their hearing.

The second movie Kira played was a cheap horror film from the 1908's. Typical serial killer scenario. John and Simon had both had a few glasses of scotch and were a little closer to "sentimental" than they normally were. Soap had thrown his arm across the back of the couch and Ghost had pressed up against the Captain's side and the arm moved from the back of the couch to around the Lieutenant's shoulders. Kira allowed herself a sappy little smile at this.

Once that movie was done, Kira turned the lights up a little, turned off the television, and drug two _massive_ beanbag chairs that looked almost like beanbag _mattresses_(5) into the middle of the room and announced it was time for board games. She dropped onto one that was an electric green color, leaving her brother and the Lieutenant to share the very vibrant orange one.

"So what's his name?" John asked as they started setting up a game called "Apples to Apples"(6).

"Who?" Kira asked, eyebrow quirked in confusion. Soap saw through the act.

"You've been seeing someone. You wore your favorite perfume to that 'business dinner' last night." John mused.

"Deign's friend Alastair." Kira admitted. She could never hide anything from her brother, no matter how hard she tried.

Simon chuckled at their antics and the game started. They drank a little more and lounged on the floor, playing board games and watching television from time to time.

"So, no, no, listen. The hottest part about Alastair is that he's _American_." Kira repeated. They'd been lazy for the past six and a half hours and were all carrying a little bit of a buzz.

"What does that have to do with _anything_?" John asked his sister. He laid a card down and rearranged the cards in his hand. Kira had convinced them to play a few rounds of Gin, claiming that if she could beat her brother when they were kids, she could beat him now.

"It has _everything_ to do with _everything_. I like listening to him talk." Kira shrugged.

Simon laughed but generally refused to get pulled into the conversation. He knew what Kira was saying about enjoying a different accent. That's why he swore he'd never get involved with anyone from _England_. Soap was _Scottish_. Some people would swear there wasn't that much of a difference(7), but it was there.

"You know, I remember when we did this as kids. Remember when Dad would set us up one of those blanket forts in the living room and we would play castle defenders and fight off imaginary dragons with sticks tied together to look like shitty swords? We'd just lay under the canopy that never seemed to fall and we'd talk about what we'd do when we grew up. You remember that, Johnny?" Kira asked. Her blue eyes were distant as she reminisced.

"I remember I thought I'd be doing something along these lines by the time we were this age." John chuckled.

"Remember I told you I was going to be as good at making forts as Dad was?" Kira smiled.

"You're doing a pretty damn good job, Key."

"What about you, Simon? What does all this lazing around remind you of?" Kira asked.

"Reminds me of the tree house my brother found. It was really a couple of boards nailed across a few of the branches with four shoddy plywood walls and not much of a roof. He said it was our secret agent headquarters and we'd plan raids on the movie store in town."

Kira laughed and won another hand of Gin, the sixth one in a row out of the seven they had played. John shoved all the cards into a stack and slid the deck back into the box. Kira turned the television back on and they all settled in on the massive beanbag chairs to watch television. They hadn't done anything all day and Riley wasn't feeling antsy like he normally was after so much inactivity. With Soap's warm chest pressed against his back and heavy arm around his waist, he decided he didn't mind this "lazy sentimentality", at least for the moment. In fact, it felt rather nice after working so goddamned hard for so goddamned long. Sometimes, sloth was worth it.

* * *

**(1):** My Mum has a friend who's an artist and actually bought a bunch of slate tile and tiled their shower in slate and did a Gothic arch out of this really pretty blue/purple slate... It was GORGEOUS!!! Also, my inspriation. :3

**(2):** Yes. This is me, making a "shoutout" to my brother's favorite perk on Online play. X3

**(3):** I have no idea if this shit is real. Don't quote me on this. I'm making it up as I go along. I suck at my engineering class. I know jack-shit about archetecture.

**(4):** It's a real movie, this one. It's called "Meatballs". It's an old Bill Murray movie. I love it. It's totally chill and hella fun to watch when you just feel like being lazy. :3

**(5):** Also a real product. It's called the Omni and it's produced by a company called Sumo Lounge. It's ridiculous. I want one in lime green.

**(6):** Real game. Really fun game too. :D

**(7):** This is kind of a quote from my ex-boyfriend. I was watching Torchwood and he made a comment about one of the characters (Ianto) having an annoying British accent and I promptly corrected him and told him it was Welsh. He looked at me like I had three heads and demanded to know if there was a difference. YES! HUGE DIFFERENCE!! Kay bye. XD


	11. WRATH

**A/N:** Sin number seven of seven: WRATH. This one takes place during Just Like Old Times and during/after EndGame. Ghost is dead. Soap is pissed. Written while listening to (and kind of inspired by) Placebo's cover of "Running Up That Hill". Hope you guys like it.

**GothicBandicoot:** Well, it was the kind of thing that my brother and I used to do, and I wanted to make them relatable, so I figured why not just go for it? And I know this update has taken forever, but it's the end of senior year, meaning hella work. -_-'

**Astaldo Ungol:** Yes, it's true. I have a book idea. I just need to get off my lazy ass and figure out how to get the damned thing started... I even think it's going to hold subtle slash hints (like Anne Rice "subtly" hinted that Lestat fucked Louie and all those other guys XD) And don't worry about dodging imaginary bullets. They can't be bad-asses all the time... One of my brothers is going through training to become a Marine Corps Scout Sniper, and those guys are hella bad ass, but when the time comes, Luke is pretty goddamned tame. o.O And I couldn't refrain from mentioning Ghost again. He just makes me so damn happy when I write him... And I am officially a Gwen-Basher, so it's cool. I'm not sure if I mentioned this before (and I'm too lazy to check XD), but I call my boyfriend "Jack" and he calls me "Ianto". It's kinda cute, actually. :3

**yeah-bled:** Yes, he's rather understanding... It's pretty funny. And thank you for head-pats. Though I must warn... The easiest way to put me to sleep is to play with my hair. ~.O

**greenyfox:** Yes, I believe there should be more Soap/Ghost... It's practically fucking cannon. And I'm like you likey.

**Sam:** It was a little bit of a strech to whore Roach out during GREED, but it could also make sense. And I don't know that I'd necessarily call him naieve, seeing what he does for a living... I was really aiming more for making him so jaded and disenchanted, that he just didn't care anymore, if that makes sense to you. And I enjoy a little plotless smut every now and then, but I agree; there should be more well-written slash for these boys. My problem with "its" and "it's" is mostly I'm typing too damn fast because I'm supposed to be working on homework (right now I'm dodging a term paper for my English course XD). It doesn't help any that I type all of this directly onto FanFiction (go to Document Manager and just reuse the same "document" over and over) and FanFic doesn't look out for stuff like that. This is, of course, a necessity, considering my dad is going to try going through my computer 'til I move out and they're not really comfortable with this type of subject matter... Goddamned Slash-Haters... ANYWAY!!! I'll try to keep an eye on that though. Thanks for pointing it out. :D

**PhonyPrincess:** I have to get this out of my system because I've been wanting to say this since your first review... "Sorry, Mario. The Princess is in another castle. We do, however, have a Goombah in drag, if you're interested." "...What the hell do I want a phony princess for?!?!" Okay. I'm done. XD Here's WRATH for you, sweets. :3

* * *

Three letters that changed the entire course of the war. KIA. Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, KIA. Killed by Sheperd. Killed by a traitor. Dead for no reason.

"Sheperd betrayed us." It doesn't sound like me as I say it, but it's all I can think. Sheperd, whom we're supposed to trust until the very end, stabbed us in the back. He started a war against his own country. And for what? Because the Russians paid more than his own fucking country?

"Let Sheperd's men and Makarov's men kill each other as much as you can."

Were it anyone but Price, I would have ignored them and killed everyone in the goddamned plane graveyard. But I don't. I run through the shells of half-demolished planes, shooting only when necessary. The men from both sides ignore me, for the most part.

I hardly hear Nicholai through the comms telling us that the landing zone was too hot. I didn't care about that. The only thing I could bring myself to care about was Makarov's intel.

_"Site Bravo. You know the place."_

I run with new purpose. We know where Sheperd is hiding and we know how to get to him. All I need is half a chance.

"But the sand and the rocks here, stained with thousands of years of warfare... They will remember us."

It doesn't matter who remembers us, as long as no one can remember Shaperd. I don't care if my blood coats the sand all across the goddamned Afghan desert. As long as _his_ does too.

"Because out of our vast array of nightmares, this is the one we choose for ourselves."

I don't want to choose this one. I'd much rather choose the one where Sheperd wasn't a fucking traitor. The one where I'm on a plane to a friendly American base to regroup with Ghost and Roach to attack _Makarov_ at site bravo

"We go forward like a breath exhaled from the Earth."

A blood-stained breath from the gore-soaked Earth. Ashes to ashes... What better place to kill than in a land where it's become commonplace to murder one another?

"With vigor in our hearts and one goal in sight. We. Will. Kill him."

I don't register Nicholai's conversations with Price as we make our way to the site where Sheperd is hiding, no doubt erasing proof that he was ever anywhere near Simon and Gary. No doubt erasing proof that Price and are are the good guys. And that's the most infuriating part. He has how many years of honorable service backing him? And what do we have? Nothing. He stripped us of our credibility when he named us war-criminals to cover his own tracks. I have nothing but the almost unbearable urge to kill him. And that's all I need. Once he's dead, we will find all the proof we need to show the world what Sheperd had done.

"We will be arriving very soon!"

I leave the acknowledgement to Price and run my gloved fingers across the blade of my tactical knife. It will be what I ultimately kill Sheperd with, but I don't tell Price that.

We're dropped into the middle of the desert with our weapons and our ghillie suits and that's all I need. Price and I cover up and shimmy our way towards the road we know undoubtedly marks the outskirts of Sheperd's patrols. Nicholai leaves us with a final good luck wish and we are truly alone behind enemy lines. Fine.

The first patrol is easy and reminds me of old times. They remind me of the Pripyat and crawling through the grass with Price with nothing on my mind but killing everyone. A long-range rifle and a target in the cross hairs.

I descend on the guards below the cliff, barely secured to the wobbling rail above, my knife in hand. I wait for Price's silent signal and we drop on to our targets. This man whose name will likely be forgotten... His eyes are the color of Scottish moss. A strange thing to notice, but it only serves to remind me that Ghost's blue eyes will never see anything again. I stand and look to Price for orders. Let him make the tough decisions.

We enter the cave where Sheper's operations are being coordinated and we begin our siege.

I clear the rooms with Price, moving quickly through men so jaded by Sheperd's illusions of grandeur, they don't bother looking for someone to attack.

_"We just cleared that sector! No one's that--"_

_"It's them."_At least Sheperd knows we're after him.

We enter a large, open space and I'm immediately uneasy. Large spaces mean no cover... Smoke begins to fill the room and I'm glad we attacked at their base of operations. Spare weapons are laying around, weapons conveniently equipped with thermal scopes. Makes me wonder if there isn't someone out there keeping an eye on us...

Price tells me to watch for flanking moves and I follow a corridor around and come up on the enemy flank. I press the scope to my eye and begin firing at the enemies and their exposed sides as they try to fight off the barrage coming from Captain Price, who comes rushing up to meet me once the coast is cleared. We run towards the door, to our way to Sheperd, just in time to see it close.

I place a breaching charge. The place is set to detonate. The egotistical coward doesn't even wait for his own goddamned men to clear the base before he tries blowing it up... We run outside and the world explodes.

More of Sheperd's men, killed by his betrayal. I will find him, and I will kill him, and all in the name of the men he's killed.

"Sheperd mentioned Zodiacs! There must be river access nearby!"

I run past Price and I'm in the boat before he's down the catwalk. He's barely seated before I gun the motor. The sooner we catch up... My hand tightens around the handle of my knife and, for a moment, I can almost taste Riley.

I leave our pursuing Zodiacs in Price's capable hands. My only concern is catching Sheperd and then gutting the bastard for what he did. I ignore the helos and the RPGs and the automatic weapons fire. The only thing I see is the strip of water and the ass-end of Sheperd's Zodiac. He will die for this.

"Hold it steady, Soap!"

I grind my teeth and do as I am told. I will let Price take this shot, if only because we'll die if I let off the motor. I watch, detached, as the helo begins to spin and destabilize.

"Back it up! Back it up!" But it's too late. Full speed to the rear and we're still too close to the edge.

Drowning is painful. Sounds like something that should be obvious, but it's one of the most painful things I've ever experienced. I am content with letting myself sink under, if only to catch a glimpse of Riley in that light at the end of the tunnel.

_"You're not done yet, you ugly Scottish bastard. He could have survived. That helo was stable long enough to keep him alive."_ It sounds like Ghost talking to me, even though I know he will _never_ talk to me again.

I force my eyes open and cough violently as my lungs revolt against the presence of water. My diaphragm contracts painfully and the water is expelled. My weapons are gone. All but one. Good. I will not let him walk away from this, not if he's still able to walk...

The crash site burns bright in the distance, like an orange beacon through the sandstorm, and I move towards it, stumbling over my weakness and nearly dropping my knife. I hear whimpering and look over the berm where I stand. One of the pilots is crawling away from the wreckage and I bring my knife in a flashing arc. Damn him for helping Sheperd get this far... I feel my face curl into a silent snarl and I don't try to fix it. I stumble closer to the crash and hear a sharp, hollow clicking. The other pilot is on his back, surrounded by wreckage and firing a pistol that's broken or empty or both. He's still willing to kill me for that traitor to more than his own country. Fuck him and all he stands for. I stagger towards the rear of the crash and I hear the clattering that can only be someone trying to escape. If the bastard is still alive, then I can kill him myself and take satisfaction in the feeling of his blood across my hands and the look in his eyes as he realizes he will die here and by the edge of this knife.

He makes it out of the burning wreck and runs away from me, clearly in better shape than anyone else in this goddamned desert... I wonder about Price's location for a moment, but it's hardly a completed thought before it's forgotten. I make my way slowly to the direction Sheperd ran, occasionally loosing my footing and constantly trying to make do with the water-logged breaths I can manage. It doesn't matter how much pain I'm in. The only thing that matters is that Sheperd experiences it ten-fold before he dies.

The traitor is leaning against the forgotten and demolished hull of some old vehicle. I raise my knife, mean to drag it across his gutless body, spill his blood... But he's too quick. He's not half as hurt as I let myself believe. He catches my blade, grabs the back of my neck, and slams my face into the roof of the car. The world blacks briefly and I fall. My eyes reopen just to see him grab his own knife and plunge it deep in my sternum. The world fades and I am hit with the realization that I will die here.

_"Open your fucking eyes. If you die now, you die a criminal, and he still gets to be the hero of his own war."_ The ghost of Riley is yelling in my ear from beyond the grave and I realize he's right. I can't die here without killing him first. I struggle to open my eyes.

"Five years ago, I lost 30,000 men in the blink of an eye. And the world just fuckin' watched."

My eyes open. _That_is what all of this is about? An embittered man betraying his entire country over the actions of a few ultranationalists. He stands over me, emptying the spent casings from his revolver. He pushes new rounds into the weapon and snaps it closed. He aims it at my head and all I feel is pissed that he'll kill me before I have a chance to kill him.

There's a blur of khaki and cammo from the right and the bullet strikes the ground close to my head; close enough for the spray of sand to be painful. I see Price and Sheperd fighting nearby and grab a fistful of dirt.

I see a vision of Simon flash before my eyes, laughing at some joke. His blue eyes are mostly closed as he laughs and I ignore the screaming pain in my chest as I pull myself along the ground, pull myself towards Sheperd's dropped revolver.

_This _is what I'm fighting for. I will not die because he still lives and I will not die until he does. I drag myself across the ground and ignore the trail of blood I must be leaving. What good would blood do in my body if it were just to boil off at this inhuman rage? My entire adult life has been one warzone after the other (pull), running from one hiding spot to the next and trying to avoid the bullets in between(pull). Riley understood what it was like to lead such a sad excuse for a life, and he didn't judge my cynicism (pull), he didn't question my motives (pull), he only ever kept me from falling apart (pull). He was my only proof that there was a God and Sheperd had wiped that faith out with an unholy vengance. What kind of god would let that spot of good die?

My fingers wrap around the handle of the pistol and it goes flying from my hands. I turn and look up at Sheperd and I can't help but smirk at the bruises brought on by Price. His boot heel connected with my face and the world went dark. I wonder how many times I can go unconcious in one day without suffering any lasting damage...

_"Open your eyes! If you don't kill him now, then no one will know that he killed me. He'll call me another of Makarov's casualties and I'll be nothing more than another name on a list."_

I force myself to wake back up, though it is difficult to remain awake. Price is down, and Sheperd is beating him, hitting him again and again and again... While not the exact weapon I want to use to kill the son of a bitch, the knife in my chest will have to do. My hand moves slowly towards the hilt of the knife and I cringe as just that contact sends bolts of pain through me. I tug at the knife with a groan and I am reminded of why the knife is there. Sheperd _cannot_ be called anything but a lying, backstabbing asshole. I bring both hands up to the hilt and I pull.

The next gust of wind doesn't carry the oppressive smell of half-charred flesh from the crash or the scent of blood from the fight nearby. It smells like Riley; Gun grease, sweat, determination, and a cologne that you can only find in his hometown.

The sun doesn't feel so hot as it beats down on me through the cloud of sand. It feels like the arms of a specter have wound around me; it feels like divine help in ripping this God-forsaken knife out of my chest. Simon.

The blade is finally wrenched free and the agony is kept at bay by this strange new chill that's either the arms of an angel or the onset of shock. I spin the blade across my palm, (a trick learned over the course of one too many sleepless nights just after Price "died" and before Riley transferred in) and take careful aim at the bullshit General.

"Sheperd." I grunt. He looks up and I let the blade fly.

It hits his left eye, buried all the way to the grip. He falls backwards and away from Price. Good. Fuck him. The chill surges and fades and I close my eyes again. My rage is sated and the traitor is dead. I'm too weak to hold myself up and I let the desert darken.

_"Still not done down there, John. There's plenty of work to be done and you're the only one that can get it done."_

"Soap!"

I don't want to wake up. I want to stay here, stay where I can still hear Riley.

"Soap!"

_"Wake up, MacTavish. You'll see me again soon enough."_

Price is bandaging me up, telling me the wounds will hold, and Nicholai is walking towards us from his helicopter. I try to turn away, try to go back to the burned truck, and succeed only in hurting myself and stumbling forward. Nicholai is soon at my side, trying to help me to the helo. I dig my heels in as best I can and tell him to bring my knife back. He glances at Price who only shrugs. Nicholai goes towards Sheperd's body and I shake my head. I want the knife I started all of this with. I tell him to look by the truck, tell him to bring me back _that_ knife.

I allow myself to be led away only after he's pressed the handle into my palm.

Laying in the back of the Helo, still only half-concious, I look at the knife. I weakly run a blood-soaked fingertip over the little skull that's acid etched into the blade, right near the grip. I don't mention that the unauthorized decoration is there. I don't mention that it's not really my knife. I never told anyone it was a gift from Riley; a "self-portrait", he'd called it... He was just a skull to everyone but me. And now he's dead and gone and in a few months, he'll just be a skull... My hand curls around the knife and I hear a faint tearing as it cuts through my glove and cringe only slightly as it cuts into my palm.

Price leans over and gently pries my fingers from around the blade. He doesn't take it from me. He only wipes my blood on the leg of his trousers and presses the handle into my hand again. He does not question. He only nods and tells me to get some rest while I can still sleep. He tells me that we will set the record straight and we will kill everyone who upholds the lie. Good.

For the first time since Riley and Gary died, I close my eyes, and the world is stained with something other than blood-red rage.

* * *

**A/N 2:** Wow... That one was pretty goddamn long... 3,000 words, give or take... I know I said I would do anymore stories that take place during or after the game, but I figured that the best way to piss Soap off was to have Sheperd kill Ghost... This one is a little sappier than I intended, but I had "Running Up That Hill" as played by Placebo on loop... I seemed to fit the whole thing though... ANYWAY! Seven Deadly sins are done... Sorry it took so long to get this far. XP


	12. Spiders

**A/N: _NOW HEAR THIS! NOW HEAR THIS!_** (Sorry. One too many rounds of Heartbreak Ridge. XD) Those of you who freaked out and thought WRATH was the final chapter have nothing to worry about. That was simply the end of a prompt, and not the end of the collection as a whole, I promise. _**ALSO!**_ Just as a warning, this fiction is a little "Crackish". I was talking to a lacrosse player friend of mine who freaked out like a little girl when a spider ran under his desk during English. He looked at me when I laughed at him and said "Throw guys with guns and bombs at me all you want, but leave the fucking spiders out of it." And for some reason, that made me wonder... What if Ghost were arachnophobic? This is a whole lot of Soap teasing Ghost, just for shits and giggles. :D

**WhiteNoseHound:** I'm glad you liked them. And I would personally do more than hug Soap... Heheh.. XD

**GothicBandicoot:** Wow... Thanks a ton for the AMAZING review, hehe.

**Space Lion:** Yes, Kira is definitely one of my favorite OC's of all time. :D

**FireDragon218:** Happy Birthday To Youuuuuu! Glad I could make you day like that. :3

**Trish:** You are very, very welcome. You are also using my nickname. o.O GIVE IT BACK! Jussssst kidding. :) hehe.

**GrassWing-TreeTail:** Haha! There is plenty more to come, that much I can promise. I have a close friend in the Army, and two brothers (about to be three) in the Marine Corps. As long as they're actively invovled, there will be PLENTY of inspiration and plenty more topics to come. :D

**PhonyPrincess:** Yay for warm-fuzzies!

**yeah-bled:** Hehe. Sorry about not updating sooner. I'm going through finals week right now, with graduation happening on the second of June, so things have been crazy, and they're progressively getting worse, haha. And don't worry about tracking me down. I love Soap and Ghost (and Roach. Also Price and MacMillain) too much to let them die. :3

**Xania from PSNH:** That "you'll see me soon enough" kinda made me tear up a little too. I totally did not mean to try and put Soap in Pripyat. I don't even really remember which level I meant, but I wrote a majority of it in the middle of the night after a double shift, so I apologize profusely for the mistake. :/

**duvalia:** Thanks for the mountain of reviews! And, because I'm so goddamned scatterbrained, I actually forgot about mentioning Ghost's brother. XD The only OC that I will bring back again and again and again shamelessly is Kira, because I think she's just perfect. X3 And I kind of made the knife talk got over the head in the beginning on purpose. I kind of like that whole "What the fuck are you on about?" leading up to "Oh. Well. I feel like a fucktard... Seems kind of obvious now... Hehe... /shame". That and I like it when people reread my stuff, as conceited as that is. XD I'm not really a huge fan of the name Simon, and I wasn't supposed to be writing the story when it happened. I was supposed to be getting some sleep before my class in the morning, buuuuuuuut... There's never too little time to work on an update. Haha. And don't worry about rambling. It bothers me not. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** I get very, very, very involved when it comes to making sure everyone stays in character. On my favorites bar is actually the Wikia for Call of Duty so I can cross-reference most commonly used phrases, weapons, and fighting styles, just to make sure everything is just perfect. I actually made it a point to beat the game MULTIPLE times before I would commit to writing something, because I _hate_ OOC, especially when it's due to laziness on the author's part. Yes, the last chapter was a tear-jerker, and I hate thinking about Ghost being dead. Makes me sad-faced. And there will be more to come, because hopefully I can inspire someone else to contribute to a lacking fandom. :3

* * *

"Jesus!" _Squelch_.

John looks away from the television and into the kitchen in time to see Riley shudder. Riley looked up at met his lover's gaze.

"Spider." Simon muttered.

"What kind was it?" John asked, returning his attention to the XBox. (1)

"What difference does it make?" Simon demanded. He wiped up the insects insides with a wad of paper towels and another shudder.

"It could have been harmless."

"There's no such thing."

"Tarantu--"

"I don't care!"

After _very_ thoroughly washing his hands, Simon picked up his Ramen noodles from the counter and made his way to the living room of the off-base apartment he shared with the Captain. He sat down on the couch next to the Scot and watched the television screen.

"Go left here." Riley suggested.

MacTavish muttered something under his breath, but followed the route anyway. This was frequently how they fought. They would scream at each other, possibly resort to blows, follow the whole ordeal with food and booze and forgive and forget. Ah, the benefits of not having a woman in the relationship...

"You know Sheperd is talking about sending us back to Afghanistan. Again."

"So? Reload here before you go in there."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm reloading. There are reports of camel spider swarms popping up in Afhanistan."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm only trying to be helpful."

"You're trying to be an arse."

John shrugged and mashed the "A" button as he ran his character into the fray. No point in keeping Ghost pissed off...

Sand was spraying in every direction as the helicopter dropped them off in the center of an American Army installation. They were met by a Corpral Sebastian Phillips, one with dark blond hair, grayish blue eyes, and a scorpion on his shoulder, who was introduced as Colonel Mustard. Riley made a point of keeping MacTavish between himself and the Corpral and as much distance as possible between himself and the "Colonel".

"He's mostly harmless. Tip of his tail got jacked up somehow, so he can't really sting anyone with it. Don't know how he survived that shit, but he did." Sebastain stroked the back of the scorpion, who defensively raised his claws and arched his pointless tail.

MacTavish seemed rather interested by the entire ordeal, but it only served to unnerve Riley.

"Well, this is where the two of you will be staying. Officer's mess is down the hall, and--"

"Sebastian! Check this fucking thing out! If it's six inches then it's a foot!"

There was another Corpral running down the hall towards them with a large clear container clutched in his hands. When he noticed the officer ranks on the Task Force members, he hastily saluted, nearly dropping the clear container with the largest camel spider any of them had ever seen. John returned the salute and told him to carry on.

"Captain, Lieutenant, I'd like you to meet Corporal Thompson and the biggest fucking camel spider to cross this compound. Holy shit! Where did you find that thing?" Phillips demanded, temporarily forgetting his tour-guide duties.

"Hiding in the garage under a pile of Humvee parts. Little bastard tried to take my finger off." Thompson poked the box and the spider's massive jaws snapped shut.

"Can I ask what the point of catchin' him is?" Soap asked.

"Well, we're trying to set a record. Owner of the biggest fucker when we go back home wins the pool we have going. Money's been on Addler for a long time, but this one is bigger than anything he's brought in." Thompson grinned.

Ghost ducked into the room he'd be sharing with the Captain while MacTavish discussed the Americans' odd pets. He was in no mood to be in a hallway with that many disturbing creatures.

"Apparently their record for largest camel spider until now was eight and a half inches." John chuckled as he entered the room. Simon ignored the comment. The last thing he needed t o think about before bed (or at any time, really) was spiders larger than dinner plates.

"They're worse in Australia. Remember that time Royce went there to visit his sister and her new husband and he woke up with that bird spider on his chest?"

Simon shuddered and tried to block out the barrage of disgusting (terrifying) mental images that came with thinking about spiders _touching _people... Soap chuckled to himself again and decided to give the Lieutenant a little bit of a break from all the taunting. "All in good fun" was an excuse that soon ran thin.

The rest of the day passed without further incident, until they wandered into the officer's mess and noticed a small black scorpion "standing guard" by the doors. Riley inched past it and MacTavish nearly crushed it under his boot until he was (not so) gently pushed to the side by a soldier with a coffee can, saying something about setting up a scorpion fight(1).

"This place is far too strange." Ghost muttered. He was already uneasy, having to go through chow with no mask _and_ encountering one of those blasted arachnids... He was contemplating just going back to his rack and not leaving until a helo came to get them.

Things were relatively fine for the next two days. Riley learned that the camel spiders prefered shady places and made a point to avoid any place that was cool and dimly-lit. He wasn't about to put himself in a copromising situation that would probably result in a minor mental breakdown. An enemy with a gun you could see and hear and dodge and attack easily. Spiders were small, light enough so you wouldn't feel them until they were already crawling on you, small enough for you to not see (well, except for the GODDAMNED CAMEL SPIDERS!) until it was too late, and once they decided to bite you, chances were you were just going to end up bit.

"Son of a bitch!" He drug his fingers across his arm and threw a dangerous glare at John who stood behind him, laughing and holding a bit of dental floss between his fingers.

He was glad the door was closed and locked and lunged at the Captain with a murderous intent. They fell to the floor with a thud and a tangle of limbs. He drew his fist back and went to hit Soap, but he was just a little too slow and his fist hit the floor. He hissed at the pain and knew his knuckles would end up bruised later. He didn't care. He swung again, this time going for the body. John flipped their positions and tried holding the squirming Simon still. It wasn't working too well. He was growling at Riley, ordering him to calm down, and nothing seemed to work until the Lieutenant with impossibly stiff and still.

"Well it's about damn--"

"Let me up." Simon whispered hoarsely.

"What?"

"Let me up." He was a little more hysterical and his eyes weren't focused on the confused Brit above him. His frantic blue gaze was focused under the bed where a large, pale yellow scoripion stood with its claws raised defensively. It was only a few inches away from Riley's head and it was clearly freaking him out.

John was torn between telling him to face his fears and just letting him up, but the decision was soon made for him when Ghost threw him off and jumped away from the bed.

"Fucking kill it!" He hissed.

John dutifully stood and crushed the pale arachnid with his boot and glanced over his shoulder where Simon was sitting in the center of the bed, eyes on the spot where the monstrosity had stood only a few moments before.

"I'm really ready to be out of this goddamned desert." Riley muttered.

John smiled softly and sat down on the bed. In a rare moment of gentility, he hugged Simon close and told him he'd get them out of there and away from the camel spiders and scorpions.

"For the record, I am never going to forgive you for this." Simon muttered.

"I told you to reload!"

The yell echoed through the sparsely furnished apartment.

"Well I can only reload so fast." MacTavish gowled.

"So much for superior reflexes." Ghost smirked.

Muzzle flashes illuminated the television screen and the fierce clicking coming from the XBox controllers in their hands. Their arguments in Afghanistan were forgotten, as long as they weren't dredged up and mentioned.

"You might want to skip the next level." Soap warned.

"Why's that?"

"The boss looks something like a spider."

Next door, their insomniatic neighbor rolled her eyes and turned up her music. The neighbors were quiet, for the most part. But when they decided to fight... There was a loud thump as they obviously crashed into the connecting wall and she swore she heard something about snakes and spiders, but who was she to judge?

* * *

**A/N:** So, the idea for the XBox games came from the wonderful DeviantArtist Ameij who has actually drawn a picture inspired by WRATH under the title of "If Only". The inspiration for the XBox scene is titled "Game Rage". Hope you guys liked it. :3


	13. Damn Good Soldier

**A/N: **Lately, I find myself picturing Sergeant Sanderson looking much like Timothy Olyphant from Live Free or Die Hard (he played the main bad guy). I dunno why... Well.. A younger version of that guy anyway... Whatever... Inspired by the music video for "Image of the Invisible" by Thrice. Also kinda inspired by "Ich Will" by Rammstein. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO FOR IT, FIND IT AND WATCH IT! (But be careful because a few have had the audio swapped if you use YouTube, but w/e) THERE'S A SCENE WHERE TILL LINDEMANN (the lead singer) IS STARING AT THE CAMERA AND IT DOES THIS LITTLE FREEZE-FRAME THING AND HE LOOKS RIDICULOUSLY LIKE SOAP IN HIS "WANTED" PICTURE DURING THE LAST PART OF THE GAME. Sorry. That was my "mind blown" moment, haha.

**duvalia:** Haha. Yeah, the bugs are getting worse. I have a friend in Afghanistan who's not quite _arachnaphobic_, but he certainly doesn't like spiders! We pick on him about the camel spiders all the time. Corporal Sebastian is actually based on him. :D

**yeah-bled:** I'm glad it was enjoyable. :D

**PhonyPrincess:** I'm working on one of those "role-reversal" scenarios, I'm just trying to figure it all out... Anyway... I'm glad you liked it.

**GothicBandicoot:** Thanks for the praise, dear.

**xGhostxStealth:** I think there are a lot of unknown artists on DA that really deserve more attention. Though, I have to admit that everytime I get a comment or review or something _I_ jump up and down, haha. You guys are a good portion of the reason I keep writing. :D And you should go ahead and write your story. You'll never know if you're good if you never try. And writing is a learning experience. Trust me. My first few stories were total shit and I deleted a lot of them from pure shame, haha. Work at it enough and you'll get better. :D

* * *

A good soldier follows orders, regardless of what they are, and with unquestioning loyalty. A better soldier does what he knows needs to be done and takes the full weight of the blame if and when the time comes.

Roach was a damn good soldier, but one with the potential to be much better.

"Compromised, sir?" MacTavish was straining his eyes to look at a loop of grainy and jerky footage. They had sent an intelligence team behind enemy lines to do a little behind the scenes work. The footage was documentation of their capture.

"Those boys were armed to the teeth with top secret, state-of-the-art equipment. If these slipper bastards get into what our boys have, it could spell disaster for every major government currently housed on this lovely blue and green planet of ours." Sheperd warned.

Ghost rubbed his balaclava-covered face and wondered just how they were going to pull this off.

"You boys are to go in, get them out, and then get the hell out of the country before anyone realizes you're there." Sheperd continued.

"We're up for the job, sir." MacTavish promised.

General Sheperd dismissed them and told them to start planning. John grabbed the map and started plotting insertion points and Landing Zones and where to sent the Alpha, Beta and Omega teams. They had a lot of planning to do and only fifteen hours to do it. They'd get an hour for chow, four hours for sleep, and then load onto their designated transports and get the hell out.

"This is going to be one of the most difficult jobs we've ever undertaken. We can't get any outside help because none of us are supposed to be over there." John scanned the room and noticed there wasn't a single change to be found in his team. That was how most of their missions went; they were given the off-record and unofficial blessing of whatever government they were helping, but they were never there. This was something they were used to.

"Ghost, you and Roach are going to be dropped off here with me. Chemo, Meat, Royce, you two will be dropped here and you'll circle around to here. Archer, Toad, Stray (1) the three of you will be flown in ahead of the rest of us and dropped off here. You're going to sit right here and clear yourself out a nice little safe-haven and watch the world through those scopes of yours." Soap rattled off their detailed plans and Roach shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other. He had a hinky feeling about this mission...

"You alright, Roach?"

The Sergeant looked up. Ghost was leaning in the doorway, watching him. Sanderson nodded. He was sitting on his rack with his G18 disassembled on the thin blanket under him. The chain to his dogtags was gripped tightly between his teeth and he seemed incredibly preoccupied.

"You look nervous to me."

Roach just shrugged and worried the chain between his teeth a little more.

"Gary, stop lying." Ghost snapped.

Sanderson spit the chain out and ran his fingers over the flat tags. He soon dropped the tags and began reassembling the weapon.

"I've got this feeling that something's going to end up going wrong, you know?" He scratched the back of his head, gun-calloused fingers scraping through his soft brown hair. He snapped the remaining pieces of his weapon together and placed it carefully on the bed next to him. Riley sat down nearby and waited. Sanderson put the tag chain back in his mouth.

"This is going to be easy. We go in, we blow shit up, we get our men, we get out." Ghost shrugged.

"It's not going to be that easy. I _know_ it won't." Roach mumbled around the metal string.

Ghost smiled at him gently and ruffled his hair.

"I'll keep an eye on you. This is going to be a cake walk."

It was dark and Sanderson wasn't entirely sure what _continent_ they were over. He'd had a difficult time sleeping during the time he'd been given, and even now he was convinced things were going to go horribly wrong.

_"Stay close, Roach."_ Ghost whispered over the comm.

_"Cut the chatter, Ghost."_MacTavish knew that it was all reassurance, but they needed to maintain radio silence.

_"Papa Six, this is Gulf Two. We're in position, over."_ Archer murmured.

_"Gulf Two, confirmed. Stay Frosty." _Soap responded.

_"Papa Six, Hotel Four is in position."_ Chemo panted. They'd been dropped the farthest and had taken the longest.

MacTavish glanced at Roach, who was still worrying his dogtags through his shirt. He sighed and told everyone to follow the plan. Roach chewed his lower lip and followed behind with a little more distance between himself and the Lieutenant than there should have been. He had the feeling this would be the one mission where his clumsiness would get him killed by a falling coconut or something ridiculous like that...

He heard something that could be nothing but an enemy sneaking up on him from behind and he turned, paranoid, scanning the surrounding trees. He could hear the faint rub and rustle of the officers leading the way as they pushed the underbrush aside, and then he heard nothing. Soap and Ghost hadn't noticed him stop. He sighed to himself. This was definitely just his luck... He pushed his way forward and froze, melting back into the shadows. The Captain and the Lieutenant had gotten themselves captured. They were completely surrounded and were, to be brutally honest, getting the shit kicked out of them. He waited in silence as they were carried away. Neither of them made mention of him missing.

Roach backed away from the men and went towards the relative safety of the thicker trees and tried to radio Archer.

_"Gulf Two, this is Papa Nine, come in."_ He whispered.

There was a brief burst of static, then another, and a third, followed by three longer bursts of static, three short bursts, a yell, and then nothing. Dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot, scream. Archer was in trouble. SOS. He'd been discovered, and probably the rest of his team as well.

_"Hotel Four, this is Papa Nine. Can you read?"_

Roach's hand went back to his dogtags and he worried his lower lip. He received no response, not even an SOS like he'd gotten from Archer. There was nothing but silence. He tried Toad, Stray, Royce, Meat... Nothing. Just more goddamned silence. With a sigh and the expectation of the worst, he radioed command.

"Echo One, this is Papa Nine, we have a situation, over." He waited impatiently for a response, half-thinking for a moment that perhaps the reason he couldn't reach anyone else was because of some sort of small EMP. A glance at his red-dot sight and working GPS tracker showed that couldn't be the case.

_"Papa Nine, this is Echo One Actual. What is the situation, over?"_Sheperd's voice seemed to both calm and excite him.

"Teams Beta and Omega have been compromised. I'm the only remaining member of Team Alpha. Requesting further orders."

_"Papa Nine, be advised...Emergency...Point...Helos coming... Green...When...Close."_

Roach bit his tongue. There was some sort of short-range interference. He was only catching every other word from command... He listened closer to the short-range interference for a moment. Commands for the enemy were somehow being picked up on his communications system... He had to be a hell of a lot closer than he expected... Or maybe there was something wrong with the system as a whole? Roach listened for a moment, glad his mother had insisted on his multilinguality.

"Echo One, please repeat directives. I'm picking up interference, over." Roach didn't mention the interference mentioned torture for the newly captured and intense interrogation on their multinationality.

_"Papa Nine, be advised, report immediately to emergency ex-fil point. Friendly helos will be coming your way. Pop green flares when you hear them get close."_

"Echo One, enemy chatter indicates Teams Alpha, Beta and Omega will be subjected to tortures outlawed by the Geneva Convention in an attempt to discover their intent and any possible other intel, over."

This silence seemed impossibly loud and the echoes of torture threats echoed louder in his head.

_"Papa Nine, directives remain the same. You are to report to emergency ex-fil point for immediate extraction. Another team will be sent in at another time, over."_

Roach had his orders, but he also had some strange urge to ignore his orders and do what he could to help his team members. He closed his eyes and weighed his options. He could wait for another team to go in and hope they didn't make whatever mistake it was they just made, or he could go in there and fix this himself instead of hoping everyone was still alive...

"Echo one, interference is only getting worse. Repeat last transmission, over."

The orders came through exactly the same.

"Echo one...enemy...intentional...difficult...too close..."

Command asked him to repeat the intentionally choppy message and he refused to respond. Let thim think there was something wrong with his radio (which was actually fairly logical). He took a deep breath, crossed himself, muttered a Hail Mary, and pushed through the jungle.

"Well this is just fucking dandy." Ghost muttered.

The cells were simple. Concrete floor, stucco walls, bars for doors. No windows. No cots. A threadbare blanket against one wall and a bucket for waste in a corner.

"Shut up, Ghost." Soap rolled his eyes. He was still trying to figure out how Roach had evaded capture when they hadn't. Knowing Sanderson, it was probably just a fluke. Command would no doubt call him back and make them wait a few weeks before another rescue attempt was made.

"When we finally get back on friendly turf, I'm putting in for time off." Ghost sat with his back against the wall and with his shoulder touching John's.

"For once, Ghost, I think you came up with a good idea."

"We could go ruin your sister's house."

"Hm. Every time you say that, we go to her house and she ends up using us as guinea pigs for one thing or another."

Simon smiled and closed his eyes. He knew that it was probably abnormal for him to be so damned calm about the whole situation, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He knew that this was a possible (and probable) outcome. Now the only thing he could do was wait for Sheperd to send reinforcements.

There was a scuffle from down the hall and the officers recognized the yells of Stray and Archer. The problem was that Stray's yells were getting more and more distant. The instant realization of what they were going to do hung in the air like a suffocating smoke. They could only hope these enemies were the type to torture you for a while, throw you into your cell, and come back to start over in the morning.

A silent conversation passed between the two men in their cell. It would only be a matter of time before they became targets. It wouldn't take their captors long to figure out who the targets with the most info were. Ghost looked over at the Captain and raised his right hand, bending down his middle and ring finger, leaving the others up. Soap allowed himself a slight smile and returned the gesture. (2) Sometimes words were unnecessary or just uncalled for, and thanks to John's deaf mother and Simon's interest in a deaf boy in middle school, they rarely _needed_ their words. This was definitely a situation where their words should be chosen carefully.

Simon heard Archer scream at their captors and tell them to bring Stray back, and he heard the enemy yell back in his heathen language and he sighed. John's movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye and gave his full attention to the Captain who was frowning and tapping the fingertips of his right hand against his temple(3). Ghost shook his head. His hands curved into vague "C" shapes at chest level before he dropped them to his waist with an uncharacteristic slouch accompanying them.(4) The index finger on MacTavish's right hand was extended, leaving the others curled downwards. He pointed to his left and moved his finger from the right side of his mouth to the left. (5)

"Fuck off." Simon smiled.

John shrugged with a smirk of his own and they sat in silence and stillness for a moment. Riley raised his right hand and began to move his fingers, but the sign stopped before it could be formed. It sounded like arguing in the hall and they froze, suddenly tense and more than a little on-edge. Their captors were squabbling about something and it didn't sound pretty...

There was a scuffling, scraping noise, followed by the clinking of an opening door and the dull thud of something heavy being dropped. Archer's screams soon covered all other sounds. He yelled and cursed and, from the sounds of things, tried to attack their captors.

It wasn't long before there was nothing but the sound of Archer still yelling.

"Archer! What's wrong?" Soap demanded.

"They beat the hell out of Stray! He's not hardly breathing! I swear to God, I'll kill every one of them!" Archer yelled.

Ghost calmed him a bit before he turned to Soap and raised his right hand, frowning and tapping his fingertips to his temple, mimicking John's gestures from earlier. He quickly spelled Stray's name in signs and then signed that he had to be hurt pretty damned bad. MacTavish nodded.

They began signing out plans to each other, mixing the sign language that they knew with the tactical signs the military had taught them. They were squabbling over whether or not it was feasable for the two of them to overpower whichever guards came to pull them from their cell when they heard the distinct clinking snap of a SCAR-H. That didn't sound like something the enemy would carry...

"Open the goddamned doors!"

"Roach?" John yelled.

"A little busy, Captain!" He roared.

The door slid open and Sergeant Sanderson stood in the narrow hall a struggling Tango in his grip, handgun pressed to the man's temple. Roach smiled, pulled the trigger, and dropped the body onto the floor. He wiped a blood smear from the side of his face and reholstered his weapon.

"Nice to see you guys aren't too banged up." He smiled.

"Speak for yourself." Archer hissed.

Roach's smile disappeared and he helped Archer drag Stray from the cell.

"Echo One, this is Papa Nine! I've recovered Teams Alpha, Beta and Gamma! Headed to emergency ex-fil point and request immediate extraction! Stray's down!" Roach yelled into his mic.

_"Papa Nine, this is Echo One Actual. Why in the hell didn't you get out of there an _hour ago_ when you were told to?"_Sheperd growled.

"Echo One Actual, transmissions were shot. I recieved no clear directives and took the initiative to do what I could to help my team." Roach lied. Ghost could see it for what it was and signed as much to Soap, who smiled and nodded.

_"Papa Nine, extraction is en route. Hurry the hell up. Echo One Actual, out."_

Sheperd didn't sound happy, but there wasn't much that could be done about it. The helos were inbound and they were going to be home and safe soon. John and Simon sat next to each other and carried on conversations that were more with glances than hands, and more with hands than words. Roach let them communicate. He stared at the deck beneath his feet and hoped his ass-chewing from Sheperd wouldn't be_ too_ awful...

"Roach is a damn good soldier, sir." MacTavish growled.

Sheperd didn't seem phased by the tone and continued to look over the incident reports. He _knew_ that Roach had gotten the directives. He just didn't have a way (or the will) to prove otherwise. He sighed and put the papers down. Dealing with the 141 could be a unique form of torture itself, given the right conditions and an appropriately pissed off member.

"No action will be taken against Sergeant Sanderson. Just make damn sure he tries a little harder to hear us next time." Sheperd dismissed the Captain and went back to whatever it was Generals do in their spare time.

Roach waited nervously on his rack, rubbing the dog-tags that had belonged to his father, years and years ago, the ones he hoped were good luck.

"You're good at what you do Roach. Sheperd doesn't get rid of people like that." John winked as he passed Gary's room.

"See? Nothin' to worry about." Chemo threw a spiral notebook at Sanderson's head for effect, though it was done with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah." Roach smiled.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE 2 (MUY IMPORTANTE!)**_ My next update will probably be off and take a long time, but I (finally) turn 18 tomorrow, so I'm going to be at my great-gram's to celebrate, followed by getting my first tattoo, and then, since I'll finally be able to, I'm going to go and sit in a bar. Just because it'll finally be legal for me to see the inside of one. Since I do most of my writing on the weekends... This messes things up a little... Sorry kids.

(1) Stray belongs to me. I don't know if he'll make a repeat appearance like Kira, but he's here for now. As far as looks go, I kind a picture him looking like Richard Kruspe from Rammstein. (Yes, that _is_ the second reference, but I've been listening to them a lot lately, haha.)

(2) This is sign language for "I Love You". Kinda sappy, but you gotta think: as far as they know, they're going to die here. And besides, it's not like that's something they'd actually ever _say_ to each other... Just a little out of character, you know?

(3) American Sign Language for "tired". Yes, I know the Europeans are using ASL, but just run with it, okay? I'm American and I know a little sign language, so that's what I'm running with.

(4) ASL for tired.

(5) More ASL. This one means liar.


	14. Advice

**A/N:** So, the original concept for this one got away from me and I don't really remember what it was supposed to be, but this is what it turned into. XD Roach slashed with my OC from the last chapter, Stray. (He may or may not make a few more appearances). References to Soap/Ghost and Jealous!Roach. This one is somewhere between good and shit... Written mostly while I was working, haha. _**ALSO!**_ I know a few of you have mentioned how sweet the sign language thing was, and if you want to see a picture of how that would play out, visit DeviantArt (dotcom, for those who don't know) and search out an artist by the name of ameij. The picture is called "Words Unspoken" and it's wonderful, as is the rest of her gallery. ;D

**Scorpling-No-Okami:** Thanks for the birthday wishes, haha. And Roach is main-charactery in this one too. :D For someone who doesn't talk, I absolutely adore him for some reason... haha.

**xGhostxStealth:** I actually know a little sign language myself and I've been using it around the office because there are some things that can't be spoken in front of certain co-workers, and I'm too lazy to find my phone and send a text, haha. Thanks for the birthday wishes and I hope your book turns out well. :D

**duvalia:** I _wish_ it was a 141 tattoo, haha. I ended up with "Cognito Ergo Sum" (I think, therefore I am) on my right shoulder blade, haha (And fuck all, but it itches now that it's healing. X-x). I happen to sometimes think of ameij's Roach as well, haha. I totally think Clumsy!Roach is cannon, and accidentally avoiding capture definitely seems like something he would do, haha.

**UnlikeAnyOtherDay:** See, I'm always telling people I'm God in disguise and they never believe me. XD I'm glad you liked them. If you're looking for something else to pelvic thrust too, I'm seriously strongly suggesting looking up ameij's pictures on DeviantArt. Especially one called "Toll". But have tissues at the ready, as a nosebleed will ensue. :D

**PhonyPrincess: **Don't worry. Roach is back and Jealous! Haha. And besides, Ghost seems like the type of person to just get bored and look up something like sign language for fun, haha.

**Captain Aarfy:** Well thank you! My brother knows I write slash (though he doesn't really approve that much) and he tells me all the time I do _way_ too much research on trivial things for the characters. But when I get a review like yours that says I did a good job at the characterization, it makes it all worth it. :)

**CountSheep:** I have to admit that I'm a reader and a writer that gets very ADD. If it isn't important, don't fucking include it. I hate unnecessary digressions, and I'm glad I did a good job at keeping the flow and keeping you interested. :D

* * *

"You stretch like a fuckin' cat."

"Fuck you!" Gary threw a pen at Stray and celebrated in a minor way when it hit the sniper. Stray's eyes narrowed, to which Roach replied with a slightly frightened "shit". Stray soon lunged at Sanderson, who attempted to dodge it, and only managed in getting taken down to the floor, instead of his bed where he could have landed comfortably. He looked up at Sergeant Alexander Kennedy with a faint smile.

"Looks like you win again, Stray." Gary murmured.

Alex smiled. He had one knee on either side of the Fucking New Guy, and Roach's wrists in his hands and pressed against the floor. Stray leaned forward and kissed Roach lightly. Gary smiled into the contact.

"You're certainly in a good mood." Alex said with a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

"Today's just a good day."

The two of them shared an apartment close to the base, and even closer to Ghost and MacTavish (who were one unit down the street from theirs). It was a quiet, casual existance that they enjoyed when they had the time to actually sit still and be with each other.

"There's more to it than that." Alex insisted.

"No, just in a good mood." Gary shrugged.

The sniper thought for a moment before it clicked.

"This is about Archer being sent to Mongolia, isn't it?" Kennedy accused.

"That might be part of it." Sanderson reluctantly admited.

With an exahspirated sigh, Stray nearly lept away from Roach and walked from the master bedroom to the living room. Roach sighed himself and followed him out of the room.

"Come on, Alex. Don't go gettin' all pissy."

"You're the one that's freaking out over something that doesn't exist. Steven's a fucking _team mate_. It's not like I'm sneaking behind your back and fucking him!"

Gary knew he was just a little paranoid, and jealous to boot, but there was something that suggested Archer wanted more from Stray than friendship.

"Where are you going?" Roach asked. He was, as usual, stuck living in his own world and missing conversations.

"I'm going for a run. I'll be back later."

The door slammed shut before Gary could ask how late was "later". He ran to the door and jerked it open, but Stray was already gone. The sniper prided himself on his speed and would probably be halfway down the block before Sanderson could get down the stairs. Gary sighed and dropped bonelessly onto the couch. He didn't bother looking for the television remote. He knew that it would just end up on mute while he tried listening for the sound of Alex's footsteps coming back up the stairs.

Stray stood in the cold, thoughtlessly tapping his food against the concrete sidewalk. His thin jacket was open and he was ignoring the cold bite of a wind that promised snow overnight. He flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette and was reminded that this piss-poor habit was the reason he was stuck outside instead of sitting in the yuppie coffee shop with something warm in his hands. They were apparently too uppity and too clean for his dirty smoke. He scanned the street with wary eyes, more out of habit than anything else.

"Alex."

He turned with a faint smile and another pull from his cigarette.

"Sorry to drag you from home, Simon, but..." Alex let the thought die and he shrugged his shoulders with an expression of sheer exhaspiration.

Ghost shrugged his shoulders. He'd known Alex's older brother in high school and Alex had always looked up to Riley as a secondary brother, especially after Troy had died. Simon snatched the cigarette from Stray's fingers and crushed it under his boot with a muttered order that they get inside where it wasn't quite so cold.

They ordered black coffee, which was apparently very odd for such an "upscale" establishment that prided itself on its various flavors. The two of them sat in a corner table and scanned the patrons that passed them.

"What's bothering you, Alex?"

Sergent Kennedy sipped at his coffee and wished he could smoke inside.

"Gary. _Always _Gary. No one on this planet has the ability to piss me off like he can."

Ghost just waited for him to continue. He found most problems worked themselves out if you just sat and listened.

"I asked him why he was in such a good mood today, and he said it was nothing, and then when I asked him if it had something to do with Archer's transfer, he shut down and denied everything!"

"Maybe there's nothing for him to deny."

"Come off it, Riley! You _know_ there's something for him to deny. Every time Archer touches me, Gary freaks out."

Simon rubbed his bare face. He didn't mind showing Alex what he looked like, and he hadn't been in the mood to look for his balaclava before he went out. Until Alex had called him, pissed off and slightly out of breath, he'd been sprawled on the living room floor, playing cards, drinking Scotch, and watching old movies with John.

"I just don't get why he's got to be so jealous." Stray finished his tirade.

"Roach ever talk to you about his past, Kennedy?"

"Once or twice... Why?"

"For good reason. Dead druggie mum, negligently alcoholic dad... Not much good has crossed over Gary. Let him enjoy what he has."

"What about John? His life's been fucked up. I don't see him freaking out every time you pat me on the shoulder." Stray muttered into his coffee.

"John and I have been together for a long time, and working together for even longer. He's still a jealous bastard. The difference is that I remind him where I stand when I see that jealousy. You have to learn what to look for and when you see it, back off and show him where you stand. He'll eventually get used to you associating with other people."

"And the problem is that I don't even know what he _wants _from me!" Gary sighed.

MacTavish nodded and poured both of them another glass of scotch. Simon had been gone for only five minutes when Gary had knocked, distressed and irritated at Alex's disappearance.

"I mean, it's not that I don't trust him, but that's how _he_ sees it. I don't trust Archer. You _know_ how he gets handsy, especially after being stuck on base or in the middle of nowhere." Roach muttered. He knocked back his glass of scotch and popped his knuckles.

"Not how it looks to him." John shrugged.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I used to do the same thing by accident to Simon. He hit me one day and told me I was acting like a paranoid father stalking his daughter at prom to make sure she wasn't standing too close to a boy. So I made the effort to avoid doing that to him again. In return, he made the effort to avoid the whole jealousy thing." John sipped at his scotch and watched Gary process the information.

"So I should just stop caring who he's with, is that it?"

"Don't think he's cheating on you if he gives Archer a high-five."

Gary sighed. He downed the last bit of scotch the captain poured him and muttered something about going home before it got dark out. He walked out the door with a "thanks" thrown over his shoulder. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to his apartment, kicking at the faint layer of snow that was beginning to form on the ground.

"Hey." Alex closed the door gently behind him. He brushed a handful of snowflakes from his hair on to the carpet and toed off his boots. Gary was sitting on the couch, watching TV with a distracted look.

"I was talking to Simon-"

"I know." Gary smiled.

"How do you know?" Alex demanded.

"I was at his apartment, talking to John."

The silence that descended was awkward and tense.

"I know you're not going to run off with Archer, not right now, but it doesn't keep me from worrying about what _he_ might do." Gary tried.

"It's not that I _want_ to be defensive, but you're hovering like a paranoid parent would stalk an un-trustworthy, drug-addicted teenager!"

The silence settled again, but Kennedy took it in stride and sat down next to Sanderson. They sat close and watched the television for a few short minutes before Gary yawned. He didn't want to admit it, but worrying over Alex had taken a lot out of him.

"You yawn like a fuckin' cat too."

"Fuck you."

* * *

**DISCLAIMER** (because I haven't had one in ages): I don't own any of this. It all belongs to Infinity Ward. Well, except Stray. He's mine. :D Also, the plot line. Mine as well. Haha. And now a word from this update's sponsor, Sergeant Johnson!

Johnson: RAMIREZ! MAKE SURE THEY REVIEW! ALSO! MAKE ME A SAMMICH, STOP THAT NUKE WITH A RIOT SHIELD, TAKE DOWN THAT AC-130 WITH YOUR KNIFE, AND DEFEND THAT BURGER TOWN WITH MY EMPTY P90!

Thank you, Sergeant. Hope this has been enjoyable, as I'm in an odd mood and updating from work where it's cold and I'm _way_ too sober to deal with assholes all day. XD See you kids in the next update.


	15. Birthday Tease

**WARNING! WARNING!** This one may be a little OOC, but hopefully not too much. I know some of you guys are going to demand answers, so I'm going to go ahead and answer some of the questions now: The original inspiration for this chapter is DeviantArt's Ameij and the latest picture titled "Toll". If you haven't seen it _**GO FUCKING LOOK AT IT!**_ :D If you're too lazy, it's basically Sexy!Ghost giving a pole dance. I know! I have decided that we need more Sexy!Ghost to tease Soap. Kira's back again in this one, and she's helping the torment. :3 **_Dedicated to my new, wonderful, all-inspiring muse, Ameij. Darling, I love you, hella much. :D_**

**duvalia:** I think Ramirez should be a freakin' 20-Star General by now, haha. And thank you for the high praise. I try to experiment with different phrases to see what works and hold the reader's attention. :3

**xGhostxStealth:** Sergeant Johnson makes me smile, even if he does seem kinda lazy with making Ramirez do everything, haha. This one is all Ghost/Soap with Roach/Stray taking a bit of a background hint, but only because I needed another pairing to close out the fic. :3

**UnlikeAnyOtherDay:** I have to tell you, you're going to love this chapter. It's based on Ameij's picture "Toll". Oh yes... And thank you for checking to see if I've updated, haha. Ameij and I seem to be linking to one another a lot lately, haha. I'm really glad another reviewer of mine (Xania) told me about someone sketching my chapters, haha.

**PhonyPrincess:** Well... I kinda made Jealous!Roach a hit by accident, and since you guys loved it so much, I figured, what the hell. Let's run with it. :D

**GrassWing-TreeTail:** I wanted to make them seem a little cute-ish, but I didn't want to make them seem out of character, even if it was through showering them with adorable, haha. I also think the mundane problems are the ones we all need to write about, just because they help you understand the character in a more intimate way. If I can picture Ghost's "accurate" reaction to a fucked up sandwich order or a scratch on his car, or a misplaced wallet, then when it comes time to picture his reaction to something major (Soap's overbearing, possessive jealousy, for instance) it's easier. :3

* * *

They usually made it a point to get time off for the same amount of time at the same time. It just made their lives easier. And then some smart-assed, know-it all General had to send a goddamned head-shrinker through the ranks for psychological evaluations.

Doctor Ryan Wade knew that he was going to be in for it, once he got around to Task Force 141. He'd heard that all of them were generally assholes and slightly off-kilter. But it was standard procedure. If they weren't in top condition, they had no business carrying out these missions. The first one, Royce, had spent the first five minutes of the session insisting he "no habla" before laughing it off and continuing like normal. Worm enjoyed playing stupid and asking ridiculous and redundant questions. Chemo and Meat were generally quiet, and Roach was glad to finally have someone to talk to.

Ghost was his first encounter with someone he would geuninely consider "unstable".

"Why do you wear the mask around?" Doctor Wade asked.

"A reminder of what happened before I hit the 141." (1)

"What happened then?"

"There's no point in dredging up the past."

"Then why wear the mask around?"

"Fuck you."

The interview went downhill from there and ended up with Ghost going on leave two weeks early. He now had two months of time to himself. That meant he'd be on his own for two weeks before John could join him. With no other real options, he knocked on Kira's door with a rucksack thrown over his shoulder and a nervous tension scrawled over his face. She welcomed him in and took him to the kitchen for a beer and conversation.

"So they sent me on early leave becuase I apparently need the time to recover. What a bunch of twats." He growled.

Kira nodded and sipped at her own beer, glancing at the small clendar affixed to the refrigerator. She choked on the bitter, hop-flavored drink when her eyes fell on the date.

"What?" Ghost asked, following her gaze.

"Our birthday... It's the third day after John gets back. What did John tell you he wanted for his birthday this past Christmas when you guys were here?" There was gleaming mischief in her eyes and Simon wasn't sure he liked it.

"I don't remember... We all drank so much that night... We started early, if memory serves."

"Yeah, yeah, rum-runners at dawn, but remember what John told you what he wanted?"

Simon tried to hold on to the memories that wanted to remain lost to the drunken haze, finally grabbing on to the one Kira wanted.

"No. We were both drunk. You can't hold us to that!" He insisted.

"Doesn't matter. You told him you'd get him whatever he wanted, assuming the two of you were off."

"Kira, you can't be serious."

"Simon, look at me. How happy do you think John he were to get his birthday wish?"

"We were drunk."

"Simon..."

"Fine. I'll do it."

Kira grinned and pulled him to one of her various hidden rooms.

John sighed. They'd sent Ghost away for "psychological reasons". He knew Sheperd only did it to get the damned quack to shut up, but it didn't change much. He'd gotten a phone call from Simon saying he was staying with Kira, like that was a surprise. When all else failed, they went to Kira's.

He rubbed his face and sighed. He was half wishing he'd given the shrink shit so _he_ could get extended leave too... But then he realized that would probably have started a series of events that ended with the whole of TF141 on extended leave, and Sheperd more pissed off than was healthy. Soap cracked his neck and went back to his paperwork, wondering what he should get for Kira. Their shared birthday was coming up soon, but it was hard to buy her something that she'd want and didn't already have.

If Simon were still capable of feeling such a thing, he was certain be'd be nervous right now. The room he stood in was dimly lit with a wall made of mirrors and two shining, golden poles in front of them. Kira sauntered up wearing short-shorts, a nearly-too-small tank top, and shiny knee-high boots with a six inch heel.

"I hope you're ready for this." Kira smiled. Simon just shrugged. Her grin promised all sorts of horrible, evil things and he suddenly regretted not trying harder to convince her there was no way he could be held accountable for his drunken words.

An hour later, Kira stood nearby and watched carefully as Simon did as he was instructed. She watched him with a hawk-like scruitny and it almost made Simon uneasy. He decided that the calculating glare had to be genetic or hereditary because she had the same "I-Can-See-Everything-You-Can-Possibly-Do-Wrong-And-I'm-Waiting-For-It-To-Happen" look that John carried.

"That wasn't too bad." Kira shrugged when Simon was done.

"That wasn't too hard, either." Riley said smugly.

Kira raised an eyebrow and approached her own pole. She grabbed it low, swung her legs over her head and held herself, upside down, using only the strength in her legs. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ghost. He muttered an apology under his breath.

"You're damn-well lucky we don't have enough time for me to _really_ teach you what's what." She huffed. She slid to the floor and stood up.

"John!" Kira threw her arms around her twin's neck and refused to let go. It had been a long two weeks for John; the time was filled with incident reports thanks to a mischevious Worm, a restless Meat, and an unfortunate Roach.

Soap smiled and stumbled into the house with his enthusiastic sister hanging from his neck and his pack in his hand. He kicked the door closed behind himself and hugged his sister back. She released him with a grin and told him they had missed him.

"Speaking of Simon, where the hell is he?" Soap asked, the suspicion evident in his voice.

"He's in your room. Lazy bastard's taking a nap." Kira pouted.

"If Riley is taking a nap, it's probably because you're not letting him sleep."

"Not all of us need to sleep, Johnny." Kira smiled. She was infamous for going days without sleeping simply because she didn't want to or she was preoccupied with something.

"I'll leave you to your _catching up_ with Simon. I'll be in the rock garden if you need me." Kira bounced away and John wondered how she'd managed to keep that child-like energy up and with such _ease_ and _innocence_... He shook it off and wandered to the southwest wing of the house, the one Kira designed for them.

Ghost was laying on his stomach, head nestled in the crook of one elbow, sprawled across the massive bed. Soap dropped his bag and flopped onto his back next to the Lieutenant. Riley mumbled something along the lines of "Glad you're finally here", but most of the message was lost to the blankets.

"What has you sleeping this late in the day?" The Captain asked.

"Your damn sister had me carrying a 100 kilogram concrete bird bath around her garden for two days while she tried to find it a place that wouldn't 'interrupt her flow of energy'. Your sister's a bigger sadist than you are." Simon huffed.

John laughed. That _did_ sound like something Kira would do. Simon gravitated towards the sound and rested his head on John's chest. He threw a possessive arm around the Captain's waist and closed his eyes. The truth was that after staying up until eleven talking to Kira and practicing the ridiculous routine she threw together, she'd roused him from bed at four in the morning for one last rehearsal before John showed up. She'd been working him to death and it was an odd change of pace from just running around and shooting things. He had to give her credit where it was due; Kira was stronger, faster, and more durable than she looked.

"Don't tell me you're getting lazy." Soap smirked.

"Fuck you, John."

"An offer?"

Simon slowly raised his head and raised an eyebrow. John was grinning at him and it was a smile that they were both _very_ familiar with.

Through the thick pane of plexiglass, John could see his twin bobbing her head as she adjusted trebble, bass, beat, and any number of other things he would never take the time to try and understand. She felt his eyes on her, but she ignored them. This was one of the final steps in getting Simon ready for his present to John. He needed a damn good sound-track if this was going to be super effective. Kira smirked at her reference to a television show she barely remembered (1). Once she was done toying with the soundtrack for a moment, she stepped outside to confront her brother. He seemed calm and happy and Kira knew what they had been up to during the half hour she'd been in the zen gardens and the hour she'd been working on the songs.

"Any particular reason you're back in the sound studio?" Soap asked.

"Just reaquainting myself with the systems. I haven't played around in there in ages." Kira wasn't lying... Not entirely.

"I still don't know why you have one of these damn things in the house."

"Because I'm rich, I can, and I like making music."

"You almost sound conceited." Simon laughed as he came down the hallway.

"We all have our vices, dear. Now, any particular reason the two of you are here to harrass me?" Kira asked.

"I'm just coming to say hello to my sister." John shrugged.

"I was bored." Simon offered.

"Fuck the both of you. Stop lying." Kira snapped good naturedly.

The two officers exchanged well-calculated glances and turned to Kira with grins. She knew the smiles as well as anyone could. They wanted to go down to the pub for a few hours and she couldn't blame them. It had been years since they had been drunk and immature and relatively care-free...

"So what are you getting me for my birthday?" John asked with a mischeviously drunken gleam in his eyes.

Simon laughed and told him it was a secret. John asked his sister (who was fairly sober) what Simon was getting him for his birthday and she told her (slightly) younger brother to shut the hell up and drink his beer before it went tepid and he refused to drink it.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He asked.

"You're a very particular man when it comes to your drinks, Johnny. You know you are." Kira insisted.

"Just not his cigars." Riley laughed.

Soap muttered something under his breath, but drank his beer and let his present questions drop anyway.

"Christ." Ghost hissed. He was slammed against the door frame with unnecessary roughness and Soap's hands(teethlipstongue) were all over him. They were both just a "little" intoxicated and feeling each other up like nervous freshmen miraculously invited to the senior prom.

"Oh for the sweet fucking love of persimmon(2)... The two of you could _at least_ wait until you got out of the front fucking doorway to start molesting each other." Kira muttered. She shoved past the two and into the house. They separated long enough to stumble inside and slam the doors closed behind them, barely making it to their own bedroom.

"Kids today..." Kira smirked. She sighed and wandered seeimingly aimlessly through the halls until she reached a dark wooden door. She entered the passcode with a delicate flying of fingers and looked around the room. They had one more day and then Johnny would finally get his birthday present. With a final look around the room and another small smile, she turned the light off and went to her own bedroom.

"Psst! John. John. John. Snooooooooookummmmmmms."

Soap forced his eyes open and looked up at his sister. His head was throbbing dully, his eyes were on fire, and he really just wanted to pull Simon closer and...

"Where's Ghost?" He asked.

"He went for a run. I was wondering if you wanted to go to that place down the street for breakfast. We are, after all, another year older today." Kira grinned.

John reluctantly agreed. He'd really rather wait for Simon, but he rarely got a moment alone with his sister.

The truth was that Simon had been roused from bed only a few short minutes before Kira pulled her brother from the house. He was to make sure everything was set while the MacTavish twins were wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting restaurant. He knew what needed to be done and we was sure as hell going to make sure it was done. Kira had selected a few songs for him to choose from, and he selected the one he liked the most and she had made a few personal tweaks. He tested the sound systems just as she had showed him and everything, this far, was working beautifully.

Kira laughed loudly. She had her arm hooked through her brother's and they were walking back home from breakfast, an old tradition they hadn't been able to enjoy in quite some time.

"Hey, hey. I have a new room I wanna show you. I think you'll like this one." Kira grinned.

"How many more rooms are you planning on building into that house of yours?"

"Shut the hell up. I have an entire third floor that's still basic. I've got plenty of room to grow. And when I run out, I know a great architect who can design a few additions." She said with an eye-roll. John laughed and agreed to look at the room.

"Kira, what's this?" He demanded warily. The room was dark. Candles would have provided better light than what was provided. The walls were dark purple, from what Soap could see, and mostly devoid of decoration. The only furniture was a sole chair sitting in front of a raised platform with a pole in the middle of it.

"It's your birthday present. Now stop stalling, have a seat, and enjoy the show I worked so fucking hard on." Kira walked out of the room and closed the door with a decisive snap.

Behind the curtain at the end of the walkway, Simon sighed and wondered for the umpteenth time how Kira managed this... It was then that he realized the only person he would ever do this for was John and the only person who could convince him it was a good idea was Kira. He just consoled himself with the knowledge that he had at least managed to keep her from making him cross-dress...

The music started loud, started slow, and Simon stepped out from behind the thick, crushed velvet curtain. He noticed John shift, but didnt' let that bother him. He'd spent two weeks working on this and he'd be damned if he was going to let all that hard work go to waste...

John licked his lips and stared at the stage Kira had created. Ghost was wearing his combat fatigues, gloves, and mask. He knew what was going on, but that did nothing to alleviate the anticipation welling up in the pit of his stomach.

Riley rather ignored his audience and ignored the feeling of being watched intently, though, in all honesty, it was less unnerving than Kira's unforgiving scowl. He ran a gloved hand across the gleaming metal, moved his hand slowly up and down, knowing that when the gloves came off it would be frigid. He slowly began to sway his hips back and forth, allowing his shoulders to move as well, until he was swaying in front of the pole, his eyes half-closed, a smile developing behind his mask as he could practically _smell_ the Captain's intent and interest... He grabbed the gleaming metal behind him with his right hand and began to sink low and slowly stand again while he pulled his left glove off with his teeth. He switched hands and similarly removed his other glove.

Now unburdened by the thick fabric, he again reached for the pole with his right hand, leaning against it slightly, as his left hand slid down the zipper holding the front of his uniform closed, revealing the toned muscle beneath. He let it slowly slide down his shoulders before it fell away. Though it screamed against his every instinct, Riley slowly crawled to the edge of the platform and winked at John before he swung his legs over the edge and _slowly_ sauntered over to the chair where John sat. He straddled the Captain's lap and pulled his mask away, running his fingers through his hair with a look that Kira promised was "totally sexable". The lust surrounding John was almost palpable and Ghost threw out the rest of Kira's teasing routine out and sat on the Captain's lap.

Soap barely maintained his composure as Simon placed a hand on his own shoulder and trailed his hand down his chest and rocked his hips in a figure eight. MacTavish rested his hands on Riley's hips and nearly growled when his hands were swatted away. Simon put his hands on John's shoulders and threw his head back as he rocked, playing at a dress-rehearsal for the performance that was to come.

The music chosen for Simon's routine ended and another song on Kira's "Stripper Soundtrack" started. Riley leaned close to MacTavish's ear and purred "Happy Birthday, _Captain_". Said Captain grabbed a handful of the Lieutenant's hair and brought their lips together with cataclysmic force. Simon's hands curled around John's face and he pulled himself closer.

They weren't sure how they made it to the Southwest wing as quickly as they did, or how they managed to drop clothes throughout the halls and still feel like there was too much between them...

Kira sat in her bedroom, smiling to herself, and reporting the results to an old friend.

**GMRmx:** Okay, I get that you got your brother's boyfriend to play strip tease, but what did _you_ get for your birthday?

**SchrodingersTrap:** There's this really cute new guy that just joined their outfit, Gary. Apparently he's been hooking up with Simon's friend's kid brother, Alex. (3)

**GMRmx: **... Do I smell fresh pics?

**SchrodingersTrap:** Yes. Yes you do.

**GMRmx:** How'd you manage that?

**SchrodingersTrap:** Yours not to make reply. Yours not to wonder why. Yours but to love it or die. :P (4)

**GMRmx:** Stop bastardizing Tennyson for your own perverted purposes.

**SchrodingersTrap:** Normally I'd argue this now, but I feel perverted listening to what's going on in this house... I mean... It _is_ my brother...

**GMRmx:** Thought they were in a different wing with soundproofed walls?

**ShrodingersTrap:** Let's just say these noises can only be made if you're in the kitchen, bent over the island in front of the oven. Experience talking.

**GMRmx:** Shut the fuck up. Meet you at the pub in ten.

Kira slammed the laptop closed, pulled her shoes on, and ducked out of the house as discreetly as possible with a muttering to herself on how the pictures Simon mails back had better be worth the mental scars.

* * *

**(1):** Now, I know this doesn't seem to make a whole lot of sense to you guys, which is why we have footnote. :D According to the Modern Warfare: Ghost comic books and the MW2 Wikia, assuming Ghost really _is_ Lieutenant Simon Riley, then the mask he wears has something to do with his team before the 141 being undercover at a Dia de los Muertos carnival in Mexico. The team was wiped out and the skull mask is remienscent of that.

**(2):** No real purpose for this footnote, except to say that persimmon is a fruit and I like making up phrases like this in real life conversations. XD

**(3):** No, this is not me obsessing over my own OC. Kira is pretty much a permutation of myself, so why shouldn't she be a slash fanatic? And if it's a joint birthday, Soap isn't the only one that needs presents... Heheh...

**(4):** Yes, this is me, bastardizing Tennyson for my own perverted purposes. A modified line from Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem, "Charge of the Light Brigade".


	16. Dog Tags

**A/N:**I know she's been making a lot of appearances lately, but Kira's is the safest place for the guys to go and just be whatever they wanna be at the moment. This one takes place a few days after "Birthday Tease" and the inspiration comes from ameij's DeviantArt picture "Tag Me" and my own tags and obsession with them. :3 _**PLEASE NOTE!**_ I don't normally update this fast, but I've been hit with a few waves of inspiration for this fandom and I wanna run with it while I have the chance. Reviews are fuel for the slash machine. ;)

**PhonyPrincess:** Ameij is my Muse for the moment, especially considering my real Muse is hiding in the basement of my mind with a bottle of vodka, a copy of Prototype and a muttered curse about not seeing Alex Mercer's face more. -_-' ANYWAY! I'm glad you loved them and I think Ghost is a wonderful tease. :3

**xGhostxStealth:** Mmmmmm UPDATE! Anyway. I'm so glad I love Ameij and basically everything that is drawn by her. :) This one actually references the "Kiss Meme" WIP. :D

**GrassWing-TreeTail:** I hope you did manage to find the pictures. They're nothing short of awesome. And I'll get around to more Roach/Stray soon. I'm planning on developing Stray's character as much as Kira's. ;)

**duvalia:** I love it when you bother me. :) The next chapter will probably be taking place shortly after this one and will probably reference what's in those Roach/Stray pictures. /evil laugh. XD

* * *

The weight was cool and comforting and reminded him that they were safe. Their tags could be worn only when they were on a safe, familiar, friendly base. On missions, they were very, very, very rarely supposed to be wherever they were and their respective countries couldn't be held responsible for their actions, regardless of the outcome. Their tags were left on their last friendly base, glinting, gleaming reminders that when they were away from safe-havens, they had no names, only their call-signs. Their names would be retrieved when they returned to the base after the mission.

There was a soft clink from behind Simon and he smiled to himself. He was laying in bed, not exactly on-base, but still safe. A warm chest pressed against his back. There was a cold metal press against his skin and he could feel the grooves of the letters in the flat tags. He felt lips on his neck and he tilted his head so the lips had more room and skin to work with. He hummed with pleasure and content. He turned and faced John. His dark hair dropped into his eyes as he did, and John gently brushed it away. It was like the presence of their tags, confirmation of their identity, made them human again. They were freed from being "Soap" (the one who always got out of a situation squeaky clean, the one with clean kills and moderate obsessive compulsive disorder) and "Ghost" (the one that left a negligible paper trail, who could walk over bubble wrap in combat boots and not make a sound). They could be John and Simon.

The Lieutenant lifted the cool metal identification tags from the Captain's chest and turned them over in his fingers. They caught the light and flashed brightly in the sunlight coming through the window across from the bed.

_"MacTavish, John. Catholic. Blood: AB+. Special Forces."_

Simon didn't need to see the tags. He knew them. They were like fingerprints. They were unique and strictly John's, and he knew them. To Simon, they acted as a thin metal barrier between the rough, harsh, unforgiving persona that John adopted in the field, and the way he could allow himself to be when there were no missions and orders and directives. As if sensing what his partner was thinking (which probably wouldn't be much of a stretch, given how well they knew one another), MacTavish kissed Riley's jawline with uncharacteristic gentility.

They eventually pulled themselves from bed and showered, shaved, dressed, wandered into town with the subtle clanging of their tags to remind them that they were safe. They fell into step as they walked, more out of subconcious habit than any cognizant reasoning(1), and they smiled to themselves as they realized it. For a few hours, they were content to walk aimlessly and without worrying about the enemy sneaking up from behind them. If ever they were nervous, the tiny "clink" from their chests helped ease the anxiety. John suggested they head back to his sister's house and rearrange the furniture while she was a few dozen kilometers away, arguing with the zoning board on whether or not a home extension could cross zoning lines and the repercussions of such an addition. Simon laughed and agreed.

They didn't actually rearrange the furniture too much, just enough to annoy Kira. They sprawled on the cool grass under the shade of a large tree and talked about anything and everything that they could think of. They spoke of vacations they could take, and if Kira would ever meet a man she could tolerate long enough to get married. Simon laughed at the thought of Kira "serial dating" until she found someone that wouldn't bore her and the light filtering through the trees caught the silvery tags and made them flash.

_"Riley, Simon. Agnostic. Blood: O-. Special Forces."_

John didn't have to look at the tags to know Simon. He knew things the tags could never tell anyone. The tags wouldn't tell you he hated eggplant, they wouldn't tell you his favorite color was the same shade of blue found on the Scottish flag, and they certainly wouldn't tell you he was afraid of spiders. But they were undeniably Simon's. They carried the weight of his identity and they kept him from being just a Ghost. They proved that he was real and he was there and he was with John. He looked up and noticed a look in Riley's eyes and MacTavish smiled. He knew the smile and he knew where they were headed.

They walked up to the house and to their room. The door closed behind them and Simon began pulling his shirt up over his head. John's hands curled around his hips and he planted light kisses over his lover's back. The shirt slid down Simon's arms and to the floor and John kissed the Brit's shoulders. The Lieutenant leaned heavily against his Captain and let himself be pushed against the wall where his neck was kissed and his pants unbuttoned.(2) He hummed and purred and growled and arched and and twisted and moaned at every kiss and touch.

Simon soon found himself on his back with John above him, in him. The cold brush and drag of John's dog tags somehow heightened and revitalized the entire experience and made it all seem more real. They were safe. They could enjoy it. They didn't have to rush and hurry and get the hell out of here before they were shot or blown up or discovered.

After the sex, Riley rested his head on MacTavish's chest and closed his eyes. He could hear the dull _thud, thud, thud _of the Captain's heart and the faint _whoosh, whoosh, whoosh_ of his lungs expanding and contracting. He soon found himself asleep again. Such a feat was unheard of and even impossible in the field... In _anywhere_ that their tags couldn't be worn.

John was half-asleep when he heard his sister's car pull into the driveway. He wanted to get up, get dressed and have a beer with her while Simon caught up on sleep (though the stubborn Lieutenant wouldn't admit he had a sleeping disorder), but his movements resulted in Riley's hand curling tightly around the chain to his tags, pinning him to the bed. Simon murmured something about him staying put and pressed closer. John wrapped his left arm around Simon and laid his head back down. Riley shifted in his sleep and the tags around his neck and in his hands clinked together and the sound was one of safety and comfort. They had another month and a half to spend with Kira. John could afford to spend this one day in bed, listening to the subtle click of Simon's tags as he moved and shifted. For now, he could enjoy the safety and the cold touch of his identification tags.

* * *

**(1):** I did NJROTC (pre-military class in high school) and this is actually something I do. Out of sheer fucking habit, I'm often in step with whomever I'm walking next to, especially if it's someone I know. o.o

**(2): **This was basically ameij's latest WIP, "Kiss Meme". Can be found at DeviantArt, as always. Such an inspiration... lessthanthree. :3

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own them, I just borrow them heavily. Very heavily. Except Kira. She's mine. :D


	17. Kira's Gift

**A/N:** So, after writing this and reviewing it before publishing, I realized that I gave Stray an Irish accent in this one, while in the other ones I didn't really give him much of an accent at all. I think he's hotter this way though. XD Yet another sudden update, yes, I know. I took a bunch of different ideas from my faithful readers that were left both in my reviews and on DeviantArt. This incorporates more Roach/Stray, those pictures Kira got, and Roach's crush on Soap. :3 Enjoy.

**WhiteNoseHound:** Thank you. Though I have to tell you that getting to this point to a lot of work. I can't even count how many stories I scrapped because they were hideous, awkward abominations. XP I'm glad you're enjoying these works though.

**PhonyPrincess:** I dated a guy that knew I wrote slash... He made fun of me for it. Bastard... ANYWAY! References to Roach's Soap obsession here. :3

**ameij:** klsidrjowiejaksoijwetrlaknsd;oijnbklnatrij. :D I love you. That one was actually counting towards my personal challenge. I want to have one story in each of my collections that have no dialogue whatsoever. That one just seemed to flow better without words. Just like I feel this one goes better beng choppy. :3

**duvalia: **By all means, borrow the Soap ideas. :3 I kind of like the idea of him being obsessive compulsive anyway. It was kind of a throw-back to the "Cabin Fever" chapter when Soap is cleaning his gun again and again and again and again and... Well, you get it. X) There's nothing spastic or ineloquent about your reviews, not in the slightest! Even if they were, I would still love them.

**xGhostxStealth:** I really wanted to explore the fluffy side of their relationship, and I'm glad I pulled it off. :) Truth be told, I walk very, very quietly. So quitely, in fact, one of my boyfriends bought me a cat bell for Christmas and made me attach it to my bracelet so he could hear me sneaking up behind him. No lie, it didn't work. XD

**RainbowIceberg:** Haha. I'm glad you're enjoying your mental scarring, haha. I've been writing slash for so long, I can't even look at something _initially_ without looking for a slash pairing in it. XD

_

* * *

Click._

Gary lazily opened one eye and looked around the room. It was still dark and, according to the clock, only six in the morning. But he could have sworn he heard something; the sound of an intruder perhaps... He shrugged it off and closed his eyes again.

_Clickclick_.

He opened both eyes and looked around.

"'Lex, you hear that?" He asked quietly, sleepily.

"I don't 'ear anythin'. Go back to sleep." Alex's arms tightened around Gary's waist and pulled the American Sergeant's back flush to his chest.

"Alex, I'm not hearing things.

Kennedy smiled and nuzzled the side of Sanderson's neck before he ordered his partner to sleep. Gary reluctantly obeyed and allowed his eyes to slide closed.

The spray of water was hot and refreshing. He wasn't necessarily a fan of the open shower arrangements, but dealt with it. Hands settled on his hips and pulled them back to meet a similar pair of lithe, angular hips. He smiled to himself and he felt lips skim over the shell of his ear and down the side of his neck and over his shoulders.

_Click_.

"Alex, did you hear that?"

"I think you need to go back an' get your head checked again." Alex purred.

Gary smiled and reached behind him to tangle his fingers in Alex's dark brown curls. The water slid over their skin and Gary shuddered as his Irish lover whispered dirty things and sent his blood straight south. He pressed closer and focused on the slide of breath over his skin and the scrape of nails on his hips and he tried to breathe evently.

"Dammit, Kennedy." Sanderson moaned.

Alex told him to shut up and kissed the American harder, slammed him against the wall and crashed their hips together. Gary felt the bruises forming and didn't care. Alex hummed and slid his fingertips under Gary's shirt, dips and whorls skimming over smooth skin and taut muscles.

_Click._

"Please tell me you heard that?" Gary moaned.

"You're stressed. Lemme handle that for you." Alex slid a hand down the front of Gary's pants and proceeded to assault him in the hallway. Gary gasped and arched into the touch, throwing his hips into Alex's grip. He needed _more_.

"Hello?"

"Liana? It's Kira."

"Hey, Rah. What's up?"

"Meet me at the chemist's in twenty minutes."

"Why? Kira, are you prego?"

"What? No! I got a package today from Simon. Four rolls of undeveloped film. Should be ready in twenty..."

"Fuck that. I'll be at your place in five."

They waited and gossiped impatiently while the films were developed.

"How much?" Kira asked when the film technician turned around. Liana pushed Kira to the side, dropped thirty pounds on the counter and pulled her friend outside and back to the MacTavish mansion.

"Who's who?" Liana demanded.

They had dumped the pictures on Kira's kitchen table and were sifting through them, beers in hand. The picture Liana held in her perfectly manicured hand was one of the two curled around each other in bed.

"Okay, the one with the curly hair? That's Alexander Kennedy. That's the friend's brother. The other one is Gary Sanderson."

The next few pictures showed the two standing in the shower, naked, pressed against each other, hands in compromising places and lips in the sensitve ones. The two in the hallway, slammed against the walls, hands _everywhere_. Next were pictures of the two napping in the sunshine, Gary's head on Alex's chest.

Gary dripping wet with only a towel draped over his head as he dried the water off. Alex's back as he pulled the shirt over his head. Roach and Stray stretched on a faded and worn couch, looking more asleep than anything else.

"How were these pictures taken?" Liana asked.

"Simon. Don't ask. He's ridiculous..."

"So he pulled all this off without getting caught?"

"Well, according to the letter in the box, Gary caught on at the very end."

"Alex didn't?"

"He was in on it the whole time." Ghost said smugly. He was leaning against John's desk, the Captain attempting to hide a smile behind a stoic expression.

"What... What was the point of them if you were just going to get rid of them?" Roach demanded.

Ghost looked over his shoulder at Soap, who only shrugged.

"They were a birthday gift." Ghost shrugged.

"A birthday gift? For _who_?" Roach was now fairly certain they were just messing with him.

"My sister."

"Your... You have a sister?" Gary was now, as usual, distracted aburptly and probably irreversably.

"Older sister." Simon smirked under his mask.

"_Twin _sister." John corrected.

"Whatever." Ghost shrugged.

Roach muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the Captain's room. Stray was sitting in the middle of Gary's bed with a smile that swore mischief and demanded attention.

"What is it?" Gary asked warily.

Alex's smile grew wider and he reached under his American lover's pillow and pulled out a manila envelope.

"Remember that little _crush_ of yours on Captain MacTavish? And the small one on Ghost?" Stray asked innocently.

"Shut up and drop it, Kennedy." Gary warned.

"Hey, I happened to do you a favor! I told Simon those pictures of you and me would never happen. Unless he did something for me in return."

"What did you do?"

"Oh, _now_ you're interested." Alex faked a hurt expression.

"Alexander Rhys Kennedy. What is in the folder?"

The sergeant under scrutiny stuck his hand in the folder and removed a stack of pictures secured to one another via orange rubber band and threw them to his scrutinizer. Gary looked at the first picture and his eyes widened.

"How the fuck did you get these?" Roach demanded. He walked over to the bed and dropped bonelessly next to the Irishman.

"I have my ways. The sixth one in that stack is one of my favorites."

Gary flipped to the sixth picture and swallowed hard. Ghost had his knees hooked around one of the pullup bars and was hanging upside down. Soap stood under him, connected at the lips.

"Check out this one." Stray pulled a photo from the bottom of the stack and brought it to Roach's attention.

"Oh fuck." Gary breathed. Ghost had his hands cuffed above his head and to the headboard of the bed. It looked like there was a dog collar around his neck and there was definitely a blindfold over his eyes.

"Does little Gary like the pictures?"

Sanderson nodded and continued flipping throug the pictures.

"Hope you know you owe me for these pictures." Alex purred. He wrapped his arms around Gary's shoulders and leaned against his back.

"Owe you how?"

"Well a guy has to deal with a lot of unresolved sexual tension to get photos like that."

"And you want me to do something about that?"

"You guessed it."

Gary smiled and carefully put the pictures back in their nifty manila envelope and placed them gently on the nightstand. Those definitely made his day. He turned to Alex and promised to make the Irishman's night in return.

* * *

**A/N2:** For those of you you haven't guessed it, Liana is Kira's friend from "Birthday Tease" that used the "screen name" **GMRmx**, which (trivia point) is my short hand for "Glitch Mob Remix", considering I love Glitch Mob's work and I was listening to "All The Cash" remix to set the mood for Sexy!Ghost. Also! I tried to keep in touch with the whole UK slang (chemist instead of pharmacist), but whatevsies. Hey look! A disclaimer!

**DISCLAIMER:** Soap, Ghost, and Roach do not belong to me. Kira, Liana, and Stray _are _mine however, and I'd be willing to lend them out to you, as long as you ask first and you're willing to pay the price. ...Not that they're my hoes in my/their spare time or anything... Uh... Yeah... Um... This is awkward... I'll just be going... DAMMIT ALEX! PUT THE CORSET BACK THE FUCK ON! I SWEAR TO GOD! XD


	18. Mutiny

**A/N:** So... This is one that a lot of people have been asking for. Yes, I finally got around to doing it. Chain of command be damned, Ghost is in charge this time. I found a Nazi/Uniform thread on 4Chan's Yaoi gallery and listened to various "fuck" songs (mostly "I Get Off" by Halestorm) and I have to admit... I gave myself a little bit of a nosebleed. .o.

**duvalia:** You know my stipulations for borrowing characters and/or scenarios. Just gimme a heads up and credit and send me a link. :D I'm glad I could be an inspiration to you. I often find myself bouncing between Innocent!Roach and Jaded!Roach, just because I feel his nonchalantness could be from either side.

**PhonyPrincess:** Haha. I tore my hair out trying to find a "stripper song" that I could tolerate and could inspire me. A lot of good stripper songs are rap-type songs, and I'm not a huge fan of listening to "Fuck a hoe, beat her boyfriend, shoot up her neighborhood, smoke crack, repeat" for the several hours it takes me to write and edit a story. -_-' Glitch Mob is my exception. XD This one, unfortunately, lacks warm fuzziness, but it has a whole lot of mansex. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** Haha. I walk quiet without realizing I do it. Bells, dog tags, combat boots... I've found ways around all of them. XD We all want to be in the Task Force... Heheh... And I think I might ask Ameij to do pictures of THIS chapter first... -shudderdrool-

**Deliciously:** I'm thinking about working another threesome scenario in. It just takes time and lately my Muse has been doing shots of Stoli and telling me to find inspiration on various image boards (thank God for /y/ and /cm/ amirite? XD) Don't worry. I have a few ideas in the works. I'm glad you like the stories, and vocal readers are my favorites. ;)

**GrassWing-TreeTail:** Pfft. I wanna know where _I_ can get pictures like that. XD I'm glad you liked it.

**Space Lion:** I won't post an update unless I'm happy with it. Well, as long as it doesn't make me vomit in my mouth. XD At the risk of sounding conceited, I'm very good at writing. But I've worked diligently and obsessively over my stories to get to this point. I love Kira and Stray, and they'll make plenty of appearances. And Ameij and I do quite a bit of linking back and forth if you think about it... But I'm glad you like my stories and Ameij's arts. :D

**MissPumpkinHead:** I _definitely_ noticed your absence, lol. I understand the whole obsession thing. I have lately been neglecting writing stuff because my brother bought Red Dead Redemption and I wanna beat the story line. XD I enjoyed writing all of my chapters, and I'm glad you love all of them so much. I love Roach too, so don't feel bad. I seriously was just as pissed when they killed Roach as I was when they killed Ghost. Don't worry about offending me with the Stray thing. I've dealt with Trolls and Yaoi-Haters and Flamers who tell me I should die in a hole, amongst many other things. This is your honest opinion and I appreciate it. I get the same way sometimes when it comes to certain characters, so I understand you completely. We all have our opinions on things, and, at the risk of sounding incredibly rude and callous (even thought that's not my intention) there will be more Roach/Stray, just because I like playing with their relationship and exploring their interactions. At any rate, I'm really, really glad you're enjoying thhem. I'm also very, very glad you're back. :)

**ShueSky:** I'm glad you liked all of the chapters. Few things make me happier than reading awesome reviews. :3 And not all of my OC's are lovable. o.O I think I might introduce a RAGE!OC sometime soon, just so you guys have a character of my creation to HATE. For no reason whatsoever. XD And I seriously think there was a resemblance between Till and Soap in that music video. I was watching it in the office and I had to pause it to answer the phone and I paused it at the perfect time and I was just like "OH MAH GAWWW!" haha. I actually wish I could address every chapter, but I'm up past my bed-time (lol) and I have work in the morning, but if I don't update now, it'll never get done. Hope you enjoy this one and I look forward to more reviews from you. :)

* * *

Simon Riley had been threatened with Court Martial many times before, and he had a very serious understanding of the military courts. Of all the things he had nearly been charged with, mutiny was never one of them. Before, he had just never realized how someone could take matters into their own hands and throw out a centuries-old hierarchy just because they believed they could do things better. Now he was beginning to see how taking matters into your own hands could solve a whole slew of problems. He was beginning to realize that sometimes a changing of the guard was not only practical, but necessary.

To say he was ignoring Sheperd's speech was an understatement. He wasn't even sure what the General was on about. He just knew that it was a debriefing of their mission. The only one who really needed to listen was the one person he was staring at. Soap shifted, sighed, and re-crossed his arms over his chest. Ghost's eyes never left him. He could sense the staring, but he thought nothing of it. They had been too close to the enemy to utilize their more "creative" ways of blowing off steam. He chalked it up to nothing more than sexual frustration.

Riley shifted his weight from one foot to the other and bit his lower lip behind his mask. This debriefing could not end soon enough for him. He had a plan and he knew that it would work. He just needed the time to enact it.

John sighed and closed the folder up. He'd send it off to Sheperd after the weekend. He rubbed his eyes and turned the light off and closed the locked door behind him. He just wanted to go home to his apartment and get a little sleep. Maybe fuck Riley and get something to eat. Probably in that order too.

The drive home was a lot longer than he remembered it ever being before. It was dark and he was exhausted and looking forward to a big glass of Scotch when he finally made it home.

For once, it was waiting for him when he arrived.

"You look beat." Simon said nonchalantly.

"Paperwork."

Simon made a clucking noise with his tongue before he snapped his teeth together with an audible snap.

"Something bothering you?" John asked.

"Sexual frustration." He was again very casual about his response. This was enough to make MacTavish suspicious, but, then again, he was a bit _frustrated_ himself. He sipped at the scotch and wished for the umpteenth time that night that he had someone else who could do the paperwork for him. Roach would do anything that would get him a pat on the back, but that would just be exploiting the Sergeant.

The empty glass soon disappeared from his hand and was set on the table. He looked up with tired eyes and he recognized the look that Riley was giving him. He felt himself smile and he followed the Lieutenant to the bedroom. He was surprised when he was pushed to the bed, but he allowed it for the moment.

"You're tense." Ghost murmured disapprovingly.

"It happens." Soap shrugged.

Simon smirked and kissed down the Captain's neck, slid his hands under the olive green fabric of his shirt, whispered that he should just learn to relax. Soap snorted some kind of answer, but Simon ignored it and slowly started to push John's shirt up. He reached for the most important implement for his little game while his lover was distracted.

He wrapped a cold cuff around Soap's left wrist and whispered, "Let's play a game," before he pushed the shirt over his Commander's head, using the unique position of their hands and bodies to cuff MacTavish's hands around one of the bars in the carved wooden headboard.

"What in the hell is this?" John demanded. His only response was a smirk. Simon's fingers skipped over his skin and his blue eyes looked cooler than normal and seemed to be illuminated by lust and a sudden urge to _dominate_.

"Simon." John tried again. He was again met with silence. He was vaguely aware that there was some kind of music playing in the background, but he was a little more concerned over the fact that Simon was straddling him while he was (helplessly) cuffed to the bedpost. He wondered for a moment if this kind of adrenaline- and lust-spiked fear coupled with an unnameable _wanting_ was what Riley felt when he was in this position. He'd have to ask that question later when he was capable of rational and coherent thought.

Ghost knew exactly what he was doing. He'd seen that thoughtful and calculating look in the icy blue eyes he'd learned to read so well, and he knew that he wouldn't tolerate that. He left a trail of dark purple hickeys and bright red bite marks down Soap's neck, shoulders, chest, stomach. He was going to take control of this situation and he was going to show John just how it felt to be on the receiving end of things.

"You should learn to let someone else do the work for once." Riley murmured. He pulled his own shirt up and over his head and tossed it to the side. He could see the Captain pulling against his restraints, but it would do him no good. Simon wouldn't let all of his hard work go to waste over something as silly as his lover managing to break free. He made a noise of disapproval and murmured that he should stop fighting it.

Simon's fingers slowly trailed over John's skin, as if he were looking for a detail he had forgotten to memorize. He found none matching that criteria and he unbuttoned MacTavish's pants before he slowly slid the zipper down, one agonizing click at a time. John never realized how many teeth the goddamned zipper had until he had to wait for them to be undone one at a time. It was a power show, and if he had been really paying attention to Simon's strategy instead of how much he just wanted to fuck, he probably would have been indignant and he would have tried doing something about it. But as it stood, he was just waiting anxiously for Riley's next move.

Ghost was well aware of what it was he was doing. He wanted to drag this out for as long as he could. He wanted to see Soap frazzled and needy and close to his breaking point before they even got started. So far he was doing a damn good job. His Captain was hard and squirming more than ever, though this kind of squirming was the kind that demanded attention instead of promising escape. Riley's plans didn't change. He was going to be in control of this situation from start to finish. He was going to prove a point.

John bit his tongue as his clothing was removed, slowly, deliberately, and cold air spread quickly across his super-heated skin. He was, at that moment, reduced to a squirming, writing mess of ignored wants and needs. He hissed when he felt teeth dig into his shoulder, and the hiss became a growl when Riley forced a spit-slicked finger into his Commanding Officer. Ghost smirked to himself and licked over the deep indentations his teeth had left.

The first finger was uncomfortable and strange. The second was irritating and nearly painful. Or at least those were the observations John made before Riley teasingly flicked his prostate. That made him wonder what pain was and if he had ever really experienced anything unpleasant. Simon was enjoying just watching the flickers of pleasure dancing behind pale blue eyes, he enjoyed knowing that every pant and gasp was because of _him_.

But he couldn't let Soap have _all_ the fun...

The Captain groaned when the XO forced his way into him. There was a pause that spanned the space of a breath, the distance between one inhale and the next, and then the movement started. Riley's hips hit Soap's and he panted heavily. He could understand why John liked to be dominant now. The steady clench and release of muscles around his enveloped erection was going to be his undoing. Below, John was having a similar revelation, one where the slide, the friction, the press, the strange and wonderful new sensation of being filled consumed everything and demanded all of his attention. Riley hit that spot, the one that seemed to make reality a dream and he ground his hips against Simon and arched his back. _Now_ he understood why Ghost shifted and squirmed and shuddered. It was difficult to avoid.

Simon suddenly knew why the pace quickened like it did. The simple fact of the matter was that he needed to feel more. The squeeze and the slide... His labored breathing mixed with the Captain's and he had the sudden urge to _bite_, to dig his teeth into the sweat-slicked skin that teased him just below. He threw his hips violently forward and sunk his teeth into the hyper-sensitive skin on the side of John's neck. There was a noise that could have been either a startled gasp or a strangled moan that force it's way past Soap's lips, and Riley knew he would remember that sound.

Ghost could feel the pressure of his climax building. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before there was no more playing at dominance and no turning back. The pressure was building, the pleasure was rising, and he could _feel_ the similar reactions in Soap. In a snow of what Simon could only call "animalistic affection", he licked the side of John's neck and nipped gently at his lower lip. His Captain responded by bucking his hips and biting at the side of the Lieutenant's neck with enough force to bruise. Riley snapped his teeth in irritation(1) and threw his hips forward again with more force than was absolutely necessary.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours that passed from that moment to a shared climax, the final moment of their role reversal, the moment John felt Simon burst within him, and neither could say for certain the time frame. Simon unlocked the handcuffs and dropped onto the mattress, exhausted and satisfied. John rubbed at the bruises that were forming around his wrists and closed his eyes.

"How long did you plan this?" MacTavish asked.

"Few weeks." Riley yawned.

"It was...Fun."

"Glad you enjoyed it, because I doubt this'll be the last time I decide a change in pace is overdue." There was a degree of finality and dominance in the statement and John laughed quietly to himself. Better to have a rebellious lover than a spineless one...

* * *

**(1):** I know I've mentioned various characters snapping their teeth. This is something I do, actually. If someone says/does something that irritates me, I snap my teeth together. It's an odd habit and I'm not sure when/why I started, but I've noticed that gnashing your teeth and growling at people when they do something stupid is a pretty damn good deterrent, haha.


	19. Lucky Willing Exploitation

**A/N:** I decided to do a little POV work and, as a result, this one was difficult for me to write. I threw my typical vernacular out and, to be honest, thsi chapter is dirty as hell. I hate to say it, but I'm a rather modest person, and I don't usually incorporate the words "dick" and "cock" into my stories when referring to anatomical bits, but this is Soap's point of view and I doubt he holds any such reservations on his verbage. XD I know this update is really overdue, but I've run into a few problems. I kinda broke my laptop (my hard drive is irreparably fucked) and I can't write at work because my manager has his head shoved so far up his ass he needs a glass stomach to see where he's going, so it's taking a little bit of time to get it up and running. Anyway... This one was really inspired by duvalia and her stories. The blow-job scene was inspired by her story "Role Reversal" and the gentleness on Soap's part was inspired by (and written to contrast) her story "Beautiful". If you're really curious to see what I mean, you'll find and read her stories and my work here is done. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** Just in case you didn't get enough smut, have some more. XD Thank you for the high praise. :3 I like to think that I can make even the dirty bits sound dignified. ;3

**Aeta Ploka:** D'awh, thank you. I'm working on increasing my nosebleed factor to astronomical proportions. :D I want to see massive blood-loss. XD

**Shuskye:** Haha. I think everyone deserves a chance at being on top. :D

**duvalia:** Well, consider Roach "exploited". :D And besides, everyone is awesome at their own thing.

**PhonyPrincess:** My co-workers have discovered that if it makes me smile, they shouldn't ask, shouldn't look over my shoulder, and certainly shouldn't ruin the calm in the middle of the bitch-storm. XD Well, okay, mostly my manager, but if I had a dollar for every time I told him to go fuck himself, I would be able to buy all three of the Firefly/Serenity related shirts I want right now. Lol. Roach/Soap, you say? Well, Roach isn't dominant, but he certainly is getting fucked good an' proper. :D

**MissPumpkinHead:** I happen to have a few small kinks when it comes to light bondage (handcuffs, tied to the bed post, etc.) and hence frequently use them in my stories. :3 Roach is getting exploited in this one as well, hence the title... Which actually looks like I just threw a bunch of words together... Ohwait I did. XD

**RainbowIceburg:** Ah, yes. "Build God, Then We'll Talk". I had a misguided boyfriend (well, two actually) who tried to serenade me to Panic! At The Disco songs... The one who got it right was the one who used Rob Zombie songs. XD You're welcome for the laugh. :3

**Deviant-Jubilant:** Don't worry about being a weirdo. Seriously. You can't be any stranger than me. -.o And I seriously agree that there are some things that are just hot for no serious reason. That's why I include details. They help out a lot. :D

**GrassWing-TreeTail:** When am I gonna do it again? Hmm... Dominant Ghost making a come-back? Yeah. Sure. I don't know when, but I really like the idea. Even moreso now that I have actually gotten it published. I think it's a lovely idea and there should be more of it. :3 I can't say for certain when it will be done again, but know that it will definitely be done again. And possibly longer. That one was just to get used to the idea of it all, you know? Testing the waters, as it were. :3 I'm glad you liked it.

* * *

I heard it said once, and probably by Price, that Probability is infinite. Chance represents the odds of an outcome when the infinite probability meets the more finite list of opportunities. Luck represents the odds of repeatedly finding yourself on the favorable side of chance.

I honestly consider myself to be a very lucky man. Not many people can claim they've dominated a predator. Few can honestly say they've taken one of the most dangerous men to flit between the shadows of this world and tuck him underneath them and make him an arching, moaning, sweat-slicked mess.

But it's always a fight; a perpetual struggle attached to fucking Riley. It's always fast, harsh, brutal, painful. But my luck stretches beyond just having Simon. I managed to find myself_ two_ predators.

Gary is most certainly a predator, but one who knows he's not the top of the food chain. He's willing to submit, willing to bend to a stronger predator, but without losing the edge that makes him a threat. That type of wary-yet-willing submission is hard to find and even harder to keep, and I somehow earned it unconditionally.

The funniest this about Roach is how submissive he is, and he still somehow has me by the balls. All it takes is one look from him and it's all I can do to keep from fucking him on Shepherd's debriefing desk. To use a phrase I've heard tossed around by many American drill instructors, he could probably suck a golf ball through a garden hose (1), and he knew it, and he knew how to use it to his advantage.

We were sitting in some fast food restaurant when he first started abusing his power. For someone who preferred "exciting" ice cream flavors like pistachio and peach and double fudge, it seemed odd for him to order a plain vanilla milkshake. Until Chemo and Meat had distracted everyone by announcing they had made malted milkshakes, as in, milkshakes with malted liquor (2), and tore out into the children's playground. I suppose I should just be glad it was the wee hours of the morning and there were no children around to be traumatized by their full-scale war game. Gary sipped innocently at his milkshake for a moment before he gave me this _look_. I almost asked him what it meant, but he bobbed his head and made this obscene slurping noise and he smirked up at me. There was a thin white line of vanilla ice cream trailing down his lower lip and towards his chin and his tongue shot out and he licked it up.

I left the mess for Ghost to clean up, left him to get Chemo and Meat and Archer and Toad back to the base. He had a car...

There's a knock on the door; too light to be official, too heavy to be casual. I glance at my watch and take careful note of the time: 2145 (3). He's fifteen minutes early. On time suggests he got distracted. Five minutes early suggests he took his time. Ten minuets suggests he was keeping a wary eye on the time. Fifteen minutes screams that he's anxious to get started.

I open the door and I'm not surprised to see Sanderson standing there. There was no one else it could have been. I step to the side and he saunters casually in. As soon as the door closes, I throw the lock. He sits on the edge of the bed with an air that screams trouble. I step towards him and he smiles at me. For a second, he almost looks shy; like this is the first time I've asked him to meet me here. I raise an eyebrow at him and he gives me a look that screams "fuck me". I walk closer to give him what he wants and he slides off the edge of the bed to the floor and he rests on his knees. Just seeing him sitting there, waiting for me, makes my cock jump in anticipation. I step closer and put a hand on the side of his face. He doesn't expect me to continually assert my dominance to keep him in line. He doesn't want to start a fight he knows he'll just lose in the end anyway. He knows he's the submissive and he accepts it. He thrives on the gentle reminders of his place. He leans into my palm and looks up at me with a silent question he shouldn't have to ask.

_"May I?"_

I nod at him and he smiles and tugs at the zipper on my pants. He never ceases to amaze me with how quickly he works. One moment I'm standing over him with complete control over the situation, and the next moment he's licking at the underside of an erecton I don't remember getting and I've got my fingers wrapped in his hair tight enough for him to whimper. Were it Simon kneeling there, I would have pulled harder. But this was Gary. I loosen my grip and he hums in appreciation. He smile up at me and swipes his tongue across the head of my cock and shoves the whole thing down his throat. He once explained his lack of a gag reflex as a birth defect gone horribly wrong, but I have never felt anything more exquisite. His head bobs for a few moments before he pulls away, gasping for air. He has unbelievable lung capacity and blames it being a diver and getting used to holding his breath.

"Captain?"

"Sergeant?"

"Fuck me?"

I tell him to stand up and he obeys. My hand curls around the base of his neck and I bring his lips and mine together. I make a point to wait for him to open his mouth before I shove my tongue in it. He fumbles at the edge of my shirt and I help him remove it before we start working on his shirt. I guide him gently towards the bed and h allows himself to fall gently backwards onto the mattress. He kicks his boots off and and inches towards the top of the bed. I toe my own boots off and follow him up the bed. I kiss the side of his neck and he sighs, hinting at needing more. I scrape my teeth over the skin of his neck and he holds tight to me. He arches his hips into mine and even that faint contact makes him pant and moan.

"Please, Captain. Please don't make me wait." He begs.

I help him worm out of his pants and he returns the favor and we're left with hot skin against hot skin. He takes the initiative and kisses me. It seems nervous, like he's afraid of initiating something on his own without my permission. I allow him to continue and I slide him hand down the firm muscle of his body and grab hold of the hard-on that's pressing against my stomach. He moans and it's a sound of a strange pitch. He arches into my touch and begs me again.

I know better than to just give in, than to force my way into him and fuck him until he can't walk without a limp. I know what he wants, but I also know that he isn't Simon. I reach for the lubricant on the nightstand and spread it over my fingers. I press one finger against his entrance and he takes a shuddering breath as it slides inside. One of Gary's quirks; Doesn't matter how many times or how hard you fuck him, he's always ready and virgin-tight the next time you have a go. He wraps his arms around my neck and sighs against the side of my neck and I kiss him again, a distraction while I add a second finger. I feel his breath hitch and I bite at his collarbones gently. I curl my fingers and he bucks and yells when my fingertips skim his prostate. I teasingly brush it again, and a third time.

"Don't tease me. Don't. God, don't." He pleads.

A third finger and he whimpers against my shoulder. These little noises of his, these reminders that he's really almost delicate, especially when compared to Simon, they make the entire situation _better_. Sometimes a man doesn't want to wonder where the next blood-drawing bite is going to come from. Sometimes a man just wants to hear his name whispered like it's the name of God.

I remove my fingers from inside of Gary and he shudders, his muscles tensing around my hand, as if he'd rather me stay exactly where I was. But I knnow that isn't really what he wants... The lubricant is cold as it runs over the heated skin of my dick, but I ignored it. I'm not going to do to Gary what I do to Simon. There needs to be some sort of aid for this...

He hisses sharply as I push into him as gently as I can. I murmur an apology to him and he nods jerkily. He wraps his legs around my waist and he shifts against me, sliding closer to my hips, pusing me deeper inside him.

"Fuck me, Captain." He whispers.

I oblige him and move slowly, move steadily. I don't want to hurt him. Simon can take punishment. Simon's a glutton for punishment; a sado-masochist if there ever was one. Gary needs things taken slower. He's got old eyes and I can tell life hasn't been good to him. He needs this gentility. And I'm willing to give it to him.

"Oh, God. John... God, Fuck." Gary moans. His legs wrap tighter around me and he groans hotly in my ear. His breath slid over my skin and the pase quickened by the slightest bit. He screams quietly as I hit his prostate and I make it a point to continue to hit it again and again. Every hit makes him tense around me, makes his muscles clench in an

"Fuck, John. I ain't gonna break." He breathes.

I move just a little bit quicker and he starts moaning louder. I bite and suck at his neck, making sure the hickey will be visible. He shivers and moans lowly and he arches his back into my thrusts.

"John, fuck... Oh, Christ, Captain."

I slip my hand between our bodies and curl my fingers around his cock and he moans loudly. I feel his short fingernails dig into the skin on my shoulders and he grunts in my ear. He's a very obedient one, one who prefers to take and follow commands...

"Come when you're ready, Sergeant." I order.

He smiles agaist my cheek and moans loudly shortly thereafter. I continue to thrust into him, to jerk him off and his moans become a little more breathy with each passing minute. He's getting close...

He screams my name as he comes, as he hits the edge and goes toppling over. The way his body clenches around me while I'm still slamming into him soon sends me coming all over his insides. I look down at him and he smiles up at me and he kisses me again. I wait a few more breaths before I pull myself out of him. He lazily opens the drawer to the nighstand and he pulls out the carton of cigarettes he keeps there. He says he likes smoking, but only a certain brand. I'm not quite so picky and he says he'd rather not leave quarters until at least sunrise.

I take the cigarette from him and take a pull, enjoying its taste on my tongue. We pass it back and forth for a few moments and it's eventually used up. He grinds it out on the cover of some report Chemo had turned in to me a few days prior. He drags the blanket up from the floor and drapes it over us before he worms his way close and I give in and wrap my arms around his waist, holding him close. I know that in a matter of hours he'll be very respectfully asking for another go.

A lucky man finds himself one person that he can always go to for whatever it is he may need. I've managed to find myself two.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah. These next few chapters are going to be very smut-intensive. I don't know why. I just feel like writing a whole lot of mansex. Eh. I'm sure you guys don't mind. ;)

**(1)**: This is seriously one of my favorite insult lines from the beginning of Full Metal Jacket. I seem to have a serious thing for old war movies. XD

**(2):** This was borrowed from the "Texts From Last Night" website. I read it and decided that I had to work it in somehow. :3

**(3):** For those who don't understand military time, that's 9:45 P.M.


	20. Obedience Contrast Conspiracy

**A/N:** Another lemon scene. I'm going to call it an "experimentation with emotionally-charged scenes and character development through the utilization of sexual activities and the relationship (or lack thereof) between the characters", mostly because I think that sounds better than "plot-less excuse to write more smut". XD Inspired by **Aeta Plokha**, The Hives, Shiny Toy Guns, 7chan's Trap board , and 4chan's Yaoi board. Soap/Ghost/Roach ahead, and it's _almost_ a continuation of "Lucky Willing Exploitation". ;)

**duvalia:** Haha. Thank you for the seal of approval. ;D Full Metal Jacket is seriously one of the most amazing films to ever be created. :3 I can't claim that this one is quite so "beautifully written", but what to you expect from an insomniac on a smut kick? Lol.

**WhiteNoseHound:** I know how it is to go to bed with a bad case of eyestrain. -_-' Haha. I'm glad you liked the chapter though, and I come bearing the gift of more smut for this update. :D

**PhonyPrincess:** Of course I delivered. I might not have a 30-minute guarantee, but I eventually get around to everything. XD I've been trying to start the Church of Trish for a while now... I suppose this is as good a Bible as any. XD Glad you like it.

**Aeta Plokha:** Well dear, this is for you. When I read your review, I just got this mental image that wouldn't quit. So I had to write it away. I hope it meets your expectations. And duvalia is always worthy of love. ;)

**GrassWing-TreeTail:** The best part about Gary not really having a definitive personality is that it gives more room to utilize creative license. :D I think it could go either way. He could either be defiant or obedient, but for these purposes here, he's obedient, in a very jaded way. I'm glad you liked the POV. That's something that I've really been working on lately. I usually utilize third person, so switching to first was a bit rough. :/ Thank you for the praise though. :)

**xGhostxStealth:** I think that even the dirty parts should be well-written. Nothing is worse than getting in the mood for some smut, only to have it churn your stomach because it isn't believable or because it's just, well, bad. haha. I'm glad you like them. Here. Have some more smut. :D

**MissPumpkinHead:** I think the comparisons are something that's just... Natural. Subconscious even. You don't plan on comparing people, but you do anyway. And something like those subtle comparisons are important when you're a super-secret bad-ass like Soap. XD Maybe this one will give you a nosebleed as well, heheh.

* * *

There's something painfully poetic about tainting "innocence". I personally like to think of Gary as something closer to "jaded" than innocent. He can lie to everyone else as much as he wants. I know the truth, and it becomes all the more obvious to me when I shove him into the apartment bedroom I share with John and kick the door shut behind us and the first thing he does is drop to his knees in front of me.

I can almost taste is nervous exhilaration while he fumbles at the zipper of my pants and the pressure of my erection is eased. He looks up at me with an almost innocent look in his hazel-gold eyes just before he swallows my cock. I suddenly understand why John banned Roach from ever using straws. I think I might just get a hard-on if I see him so much as lick his lips in my direction.

I hear and recognize the sound of John's footsteps as Gary pauses for a breath before he starts deep-throating me again. I curl my fingers in his hair with a groan and I wait. The door opens and Gary, predictably, tries pulling away; I hold him firmly in place.

"Can I help you, Captain?" I ask coyly.

"I think I'll just watch for now." He smirks as he sits on the bed.

Sanderson resumes bobbing his head like it'll keep him alive and sucking my dick like it's his job. I sure as hell can't blame John for his late-night meetings with Roach, not now, not when I know what he's experiencing. I open one eye and glance at Soap. I know he likes his little power trips and how much the _really_ enjoys playing his little games. He likes being in charge. It comes with certain amenities and perks that he enjoys using to his advantage. He orders Roach to stop and the Sergeant obeys. Roach looks up at me and his tongue traces his lips. He smiles at me and I almost want to tell him to ignore John and go back to what he was doing. But more than that, I want to see what the Captain has planned.

Instead of calling Roach over like I truly expect him to, it's my name that falls from his lips. I walk over to the bed and he tells me to kneel between his legs. I know what he has planned, but I'm going to play stupid anyway. I kneel and he unzips his pants. He tells me that if I can't suck him off as well as Gary does, there's a good chance he'll let Gary fuck me. I lower my head and lick down the shaft of his erection. I feel Gary walk up behind me and I know John motioned for him to walk over. It is a little unexpected when John orders him to take his shirt off. Moreso when he tells him to help me take _my_ shirt off. But the most unexpected, even more unexpected than being ordered to give head instead of our own blow-job master is the feeling of my hands being cuffed behind my back by our very own Sergeant Sanderson. I try to look up at John to demand what's going on, but his hand is on the back of my head and he shoves my mouth downwards, effectively choking me with his cock. Certainly not a pleasant experience on my behalf, but John, the sadist, seems to find it quite enjoyable.

I'm eventually let up for air and all I can do is curse at him. He orders Roach to stand me up and the Sergeant obeys. I'm pushed against one of the poles of the massive four-poster bed Kira gave John one year and they cuff my hands around the post. The polished wood is cold against my back, but I tolerate it and try to reach for the paperclip in my back pocket so I can pick the lock. But John knows what's going on and he has Sanderson finish stripping me. I lose my lock-picking implement and I'm left there, naked and cuffed to the bed post.

John stands in front of me and has Roach suck him off. Envious does not begin to cover what I'm feeling and I'm beginning to think I should have fucked Sanderson at _his_ apartment. I tell Soap as much and he just smirks at me. Fucking Scottish bastard...

"Why don't you pay some attention to Simon?" He suggests.

Roach looks over his shoulder at me and he smiles and licks his lips again. He crawls the short distance to me and smiles at me. I don't think I ever want to see him smile at me while we're clothed again. He's got a very talented mouth and he knows exactly how to use it. He wraps his lips around the head of my dick and his tongue flickers over the slit and I buck into his mouth. He narrows his eyes at me and gently scrapes his teeth over the hyper-sensitive skin. He slowly slides my entire length down his throat and he swallows.

"Fuck." I groan.

_One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight...Nine...Ten..._ I count the seconds and hit thirty before he slowly pulls his head back and takes a casual breath like he could have gone for another thirty. There's a drip of precum on the corner of his mouth and he licks it up with a grin that promises more trouble than can be healthy. The Sergeant is ordered on to the bed by our favorite Captain. Like the obedient little Roach he is, he doesn't waste time hesitating.

Captain MacTavish grabs my face with one hand and kisses me hard. His other hand has the key to unlock the handcuffs, though he takes his time in doing so. He pushes me on to the bed and I inch my way towards the headboard, never taking my eyes off of him. He's got something planned and I'm not sure I like it. While my eyes are trained on Soap, Roach takes a bit of initiative and straddles my hips, blocking John from view. Gary swivels his hips and I groan as my erection brushes against his ass. He coyly bites his lower lip and winks at me. I have to struggle against the urge to lift him up and slam him down on my erection and fuck him like a cheap whore. I know such an action will piss John off, so I wait, hoping he knows my patience will only last for so long.

Sanderson is ordered off of me and he almost pouts. He sits next to me and waits for John to make a move. John's move is to cuff me to the bed post behind me with a smirk.

"What did I ever do to deserve such wonderful torture?" I ask dryly. He bites the side of my neck with bruising force before ignoring me.

He moves over to Gary and kisses him gentle, kisses him slow. I scowl as he begins to finger Gary, proceeds to make him ready for whatever it is that's to come. I run my tongue across the front of my teeth and arch my back, trying to put the little bit of metal wire I keep hidden in my mouth for occasions such as this into my hands. The paper-clip remains are held fast between my teeth and I'm passing it to my fingers when Roach half moans, half screams and I nearly drop my only chance at getting out of this before John is ready for me to be. I spare a glance to my right and almost wish I didn't. John is three fingers deep in the Sergeant, who is arched away from the bed and clawing at the Captain. I shudder and resume my jailbreak attempt. I'm so wrapped up in trying to pick the lock, I don't notice Sanderson is so close to me until he swats my hands away and unlocks the handcuffs. I give him a look of confusion and he just smiles and murmurs, "You're going to fuck me".

He lays on the bed and I position myself over him. His arms curl around my neck and he asks me to be gentle. I kiss him and slowly slide inside of him with a grunt. He sighs against the side of my neck and I begin moving, ignoring the fact that John is conspicuously absent. Gary moans my name and arches into my motions. He moans something about already being close and I growl. Goddammit, John... Having Sanderson finish so soon before I can get off is just cruel.

"Fuck, Simon." He moans.

"You wait, damn it." I growl.

"Come when you're ready, Sergeant." John says.

I ignore him and I hope Roach does too. Gary's body tenses and his muscles tighten around me as he arches one more time. He comes hard and I'm more than a little upset that I still have so much more to go. Soap pulls me away from him and I'm on my back and penetrated before I can fully register the fact that I'm not inside Sanderson anymore. It makes sense now. I was never supposed to get off on fucking Roach. He was supposed to get off on me fucking him. John's going to be the one to make me come, just like always.

He fucks me hard, fucks me fast, just how I like it. I can't stop the moan that forces its way past my throat and John bites my neck again. He knows how to get me off. I yelp as Roach's hand curls around my cock and he almost lazily moves his fist. His slow, gentle motions so dramatically contrast Soap's... I scream as I come, sending semen spilling across Gary's hand. John, predictably, finishes after I do. Gary smiles at me and licks his skin clean with the sluttiest expression I've ever seen him wear.

The three of us lay sprawled on the bed, everyone in various stages of recovery, when something dawns on me.

"You planned this, didn't you?" I scowl.

John just laughs and Roach only smiles. Of course it was a conspiracy...


	21. Drinking Games Day One

**BE ADVISED:** Okay. This one is going to be a bit of a long chapter, and it's only the first part of a prompt. I'm not sure how many prompts, but they'll all be labeled "Drinking Games: Day X", haha. Also, there's an author's note at the end that is very, very, very important. Also! _**HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO **_**iTestedGarrussReach. **Sorry it isn't actually on your birthday, love.

**xGhostxStealth:** I kind of liked the contrast between I-Know-My-Place-As-A-Whore Roach and Just-Fuck-Me-Already-Before-I-Fuck-You Ghost. XD I'm glad you liked it dear.

**duvalia:** Yay anemic reviews! Haha.

**GreenyFox:** I'm gonna take that as a good wow, haha.

**eP:** 1) There happens to be a frequently recurring OC named Kira. It would behoove you to actually _read_ what you're flaming before you just start into things. 2) If you wanted to read a het pairing, why did you click the link that warned you that it has "Slash, Yaoi, Shonen-Ai" and a predominantly "Soap/Ghost" pairing? 3) Thank you for the flame. I'll be having roasted marshmallows tonight. :D

**PhonyPrincess:** Haha. Thank you for the love. And I think we would have one hell of a following if Slash were the Bible of a given religion. XD If they were real, you'd have to fight me off. o.O lol

**Aeta Plokha:** You're perfectly worthy. You inspired it, didn't you? And I enjoyed writing their characterizations, so I'm glad you enjoyed reading them. :)

**UnlikeAnyOtherDay:** Kira's one of my favorite OCs, though that could just be biased because she's based off of me and the way I treat my (five) brothers. XD I'm glad you liked Roach. It's just difficult to characterize him sometimes, just because in the game he isn't given much of a personality, you know? I think that's the reason I write him different every time, because there's so many different directions to take him. I'm glad you like them, dearie.

**MissPumpkinHead:** How do I write like that? A pinch of talent, a few tablespoons of luck, and a pound or three of practice. XD I think Roach deserves more love than he gets, so I'm trying to change that, one chapter at a time, haha. And don't worry. I'm really into the clearly-defined Dominant/Submissive thing too, haha. I've been thinking this whole set-up was cannon since the first time I played MW2. There's the Favela level where everyone is sent away while Soap and Ghost "interrogate" Rojas' friend. Then there's how upset Ghost was when Roach died. It's canon. Infinity Ward just hasn't admitted it yet. XD

**iTestedGarrussReach:** Wow. Thanks for the praise. It seriously means a whole lot to me. :) I was okay with the collection as a whole (I have a weak-spot for first-person shooter games, lol), but MW2 just made me freak out. Soap's voice is so very lovely. (I have this whole thing with accents... hehe...) I have a bad habit of reading slash at work too, so don't go feeling too bad, haha. My manager has learned that if it makes me giggle, blush, and smile, he's better off not knowing. It works out better for the whole office that way. XD WRATH was particularly difficult for me to write. I usually get into the mindset of whichever character I'm writing (yay being selectively semi-bipolar to help characterizations! lmao), but this one was so much more difficult. I really had to get into Soap's head and react how he would react to the situation, and we have very little to go on with him emotionally. I pretty much based all of my reactions on his "Shepherd betrayed us" line, and the emotion those three words carried. o.o Kira seems to be very popular on this fandom... I think I'll keep her around... She was originally just supposed to appear in GLUTTONY to give Simon an easier way to piss John off, but people liked reading her and I liked writing her, so she just shows up. XD Sorry I couldn't actually update on your birthday (my laptop was stolen, so I'm writing out of the office and on my Mum's computer for the moment) but this one is dedicated to you. _**HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**_

**KikiKrisis:** Next update love. And might I say your username made me feel dyslexic for a second because I couldn't, for some reason, keep track of all the "k"s and "i"s. XD

**x-sposed-again:** Thank you lovely. The world needs more COD slash. :D

* * *

"So that's it then? Just a 'goodbye and get the hell out'?" Roach asked.

"That's it then." Soap shrugged.

"What did we fuck up this time?" Archer asked.

"We fucked up by bein' too good. No one for us to kill anymore. Not for the moment at least." Stray yawned.

"So now what?" Roach seemed confused. The entire team was rarely given time off at the same time, much less just over _two months_ of time off simultaneously.

"We all know exactly what we're going to do." Stray pointed out.

Soap raised an eyebrow at him.

"We're all going to go our separate ways, drink more than we should, and fuck until _nothing_ can give us a hard-on. Then we'll sleep for a day or two and repeat. The only question is where we're going." Stray smirked. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it, ignoring the fact that he wasn't technically supposed to be smoking inside.

"Kira's got an island waiting for us." Ghost murmured.

No one heard him enter the room, but that wasn't much of a surprise. He sauntered over to Stray and took his cigarette. It was ground out against Stray's Kevlar vest and dropped to the ground. Stray rolled his eyes and brushed the ash off of his chest.

"An entire island?" Roach asked.

"A place to party and a place to stay." Ghost shrugged.

"Where's this island at?" Soap asked.

"How much is it gonna cost us to stay there?" Archer asked.

"Cost of the plane tickets." Ghost answered Archer first.

"Then who gives a fuck where it's at?" Archer demanded.

Soap sighed and agreed that it couldn't hurt for them to go to this island. It would keep them isolated and away from trouble. Knowing Kira, anything less than totally secure and completely private was just a waste of time. She was as paranoid as her twin.

"What are the sleeping arrangements like?" Archer asked. Roach didn't miss his sly glance at Stray and the American tried to keep as calm as possible.

"Small beach houses. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, main room. Two people per room. One on the bed, one on the pull-out couch. Or however you want the arrangements." Ghost smirked behind his mask and Roach fought down a blush.

"How many people are going?" Stray asked.

It was a given that Soap and Ghost would be going; Kira _was_ family to them, after all. Roach raised his hand with a smile. Archer raised his own with a shrug. Royce walked into the room and raised his hand before asking, "What are we raising our hands for?"

"Vacation time." Archer said boredly.

"Oh, cool. Where are we going?"

"Dunno." Stray yawned again.

"Are you too lazy to breathe properly or are you seriously that tired?" Roach asked.

Stray flipped him off and asked when they should be leaving.

"Two days." John said with more than a hint of finality. That gave them time for plane ticket purchases and packing. Roach grabbed Stray and drug him off to their quarters before he could start yawning again.

"How much trouble is this going to cause?" Soap asked as everyone slowly left the room, leaving only him and Ghost.

"Kira's either going to love us for the good time or get pissed at us for trashing the beach in a way only BP could rival (1)."

John didn't find the humor comforting.

They flew out early on a Thursday morning and found the plane mostly empty. Stray reclined almost immediately and informed everyone that if they woke him up before the plane started landing, they would be met with extreme violence. Roach occupied the seat next to him with a book in his hands and a dangerous glance in Archer's direction. Archer was playing a hand-held video game and either didn't notice or just ignored Roach's glares. Royce was chewing on the end of a pen and listening to his MP3 player he'd brought for the flight. Ghost was napping. Soap was reading something in a folder.

Roach soon lost interest in his book and decided a nap _was_ in order.

"Wake up before I leave you." Simon ordered.

Gary opened his eyes and he was suddenly aware of the stewardesses informing everyone that they'd be landing soon. He thanked the Lieutenant and gently shook Alex awake.

"Is it Gary waking me up?" Alex asked, voice barely above a low growl.

"Yes." Sanderson smiled.

"Are they about to or have they already deployed the landing gear?"

"Yes."

"I think I'll let you live." Stray slowly opened his eyes with a smile and Roach took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss.

"At least wait until we get off the fucking plane." Archer muttered. Roach, predictably, flicked him off.

"Johnny!" A woman of short stature flung herself at the Captain and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her black hair swept past her shoulders and her bright eyes were a familiar shade of blue. John smiled and hugged her back.

"You brought friends." She smiled as she released him.

"Well, you know Alex and Gary already." Simon teased.

Gary blushed and muttered curses under his breath.

"I'm Eric." Archer stepped forward with a mischievous grin. Kira looked him over. He was tall, stocky, brown hair, brown eyes, somewhere between "I don't go out much" and "I get out sometimes" in terms of complexion... Nondescript really... She smiled at him and turned her attention to Royce.

"I'm Brandon." He smiled. He was short, thinner, dark hair, pale brown eyes, looked like he enjoyed being in the sun. He seemed more genuine than 'Eric' as well.

"I'm Kira, John's twin." She smiled.

A tall man in an expensive-looking suit trailed up behind Kira. His strawberry-blond hair was what Kira would call "tastefully tousled", his green eyes were locked on the touch-screen of his cell phone, and there was a blue-tooth device in his ear.

"Exactly. It's a _buyer's _market. Meaning property is going to be sold cheaper and cheaper. Meaning we're going to loose money on this deal if we try to purchase it pre-developed. And don't worry about finding someone to draw up the plans. I happen to know a _very_ capable architect. Yes. Look, I'm done. If you have any more questions call Dexter. When I'm ready to work again, I'll call you. Shut up. I own half the goddamn company. I can do whatever the fuck I want, and that includes taking time off. Every word you say makes me want to fire you a little more, Windsor. That's what I thought. Goodbye, Freddie." He pulled the hands-free device from his ear and stuck it in his pocket.

"Kids, this is Alastair Scott Craft." Kira introduced. John eyed him warily, his expression carefully neutral. Simon held no such reservations, not caring that he didn't have his mask to cover his expressions. It was suddenly very clear to Alastair that if he fucked _anything_ up _ever_, he probably wouldn't ever walk again.

"Scott, this is John, Simon, Alex, Gary, Eric and Brandon." Kira introduced.

"And now that the awkward introductions are out of the way, our convoy's outside." Alastair smiled. He wrapped an arm around Kira's waist and pulled her towards the exit. Kira's hand wrapped around John's and she pulled him along. Simon kept stride with John. Eric and Brandon hurried after them. Alex punched Gary in the arm.

"Ow! The fuck?" He asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"I caught you looking at Alastair's ass." Alex faux-pouted.

"Shut up." Roach laughed. They gathered their bags and found that there was, in fact, a small convoy waiting outside. Two limousines were waiting for them. Kira, Alastair, John and Simon were in one, leaving Archer, Royce, Roach and Stray to occupy the other. There were several choice alcohols found within the limo, and the interior was very nice leather.

"Looks like the Captain's sister has it made." Brandon mused.

"Fuck, man. Did you see how _hot_ she was? I would give my left nut to fuck her." Eric moaned.

"Watch what you fucking say, Archer." Alex snapped. She was like family to Simon, and Alex was very close to Simon, almost making her family by proxy.

Eric regarded him with a "What Are You Gonna Do About It" expression and Alex bared his teeth.

"Lex, just leave it." Gary murmured. Alex sat back, but his eyes didn't leave Archer.

"Typical Stray. Find someone to take you in and pretend to love you and you're loyal to the end. You suit the fucking name perfectly." Archer smirked.

"You better fucking watch it! Give me one more fucking reason to stab you in your sleep!" Stray yelled

"Woah, woah, woah! Chill with the hostility! You guys are seriously harshin' my mellow over here. No need to be an asshole, Eric." Brandon said.

"Brandon, are you high?" Alex asked.

"Negligibly so." He smiled.

"What... Where the fuck did you get weed? You were sober on the plane!" Eric insisted.

"Nah. Me and Gary lit up in the bathroom before we boarded." He grinned.

Roach winced at the comment and buried his face in his hands.

"Gary, did you bring pot on our trip?" Alex asked.

Rather than lie, Sanderson just nodded.

"How much?" Alex pressed.

"The Bible." Roach mumbled.

"What does that even mean?" Archer asked.

"I had this old, beat-up Bible in high school and I was really high and I thought it would be a good idea to cut the pages out so I could have a secret stash that my parents wouldn't find." He sighed.

"How big is the Bible?" Archer was suddenly curious.

Roach reached into his bag and removed a large leather-bound bible. He lifted the cover and there was a great deal of marijuana hidden there indeed.

"Holy shit, Gary!" Alex exclaimed.

"What? It's not like it was all for me!" He yelled defensively.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble we could've been in if you'd gotten yourself busted?" Stray demanded.

"That's why I put it in the Bible!"

"Dude, maybe you should just take a hit and chill out some." Royce suggested.

"I just wish you'd told me." Stray murmured.

"Woah. Guys, check out this bridge!" Royce breathed, suddenly distracted.

Alex stiffened and followed his gaze out the window. There was a large bridge that seemed to go on forever before it just disappeared into the water it spanned.

"Fuckin' Christ... Gary, roll me one." Alex squeaked.

Gary opened the Bible and reached inside. He pulled out a joint and held it out to Alex. He took it and held it to his lips with shaking fingers and waited for Gary to light it. There was the soft click of a lighter and the car soon filled with the heavy, almost sweet smell of the pungent smoke. Alex took a heavy hit and closed his eyes. It was rather well-known that the sniper had a hard time coping with bridges. He was involved in an accident that had involved a bridge years ago. Apparently once you have a near-drowning experience, you never cope in quite the same way. The joint was passed to Gary, and then to Brandon, and then to Eric, and then back and was mostly smoked by the time the limo turned on to the bridge. Alex seemed to be much calmer when the limo turned onto the bridge, though he made sure to bury his face in Gary's chest.

Sergeant Sanderson wrapped his arms around the Irishman and closed his eyes as well. This was one long bridge, and looking out over the water flying by so quickly out the window was making him feel kind of sick. He kissed the top of Stray's head and sighed softly.

There was a long stretch of time where they just rode over the bridge, everyone eerily silent. The limo slowed to a stop.

"Lex, we're on land." Roach murmured.

The phobic Sergeant sat up and sighed when he saw that they were, in fact, off of the bridge. The door opened and the four men stepped out of the car and onto the asphalt of a lovely little "T"-shaped street. There were six beach houses at the top of the T with the beach sprawling behind them.

"Holy shit." Royce murmured.

Alastair was standing near his limo with the phone pressed to his ear. This time he was screaming and looked very red in the face. Kira was laughing at some kind of inside joke with John and Simon.

"I don't give a flying fuck if the goddamn _IRS_ doesn't know what what you do. I can find someone to replace you, Windsor. Stop calling the fucking phone if it isn't a fucking emergency!" Alastair yelled. He pulled the phone away from his ear and handed a pair of keys to Gary and another pair to Brandon. They could hear a faint whining yell coming from the cell phone.

"Match the number on the key chain to the house you're going to be in. We're going to be meeting back here in another two hours to go to the mainland and pick up some supplies. We don't have too much in the way of anything." Alastair informed them.

The whining on the other end of the phone stopped and Alastair brought the phone back to his ear.

"I wish I could _sarcastically_ say that I'm not listening to you, but I'm _honestly_ not listening to you. I'm putting my girlfriend's psychotic brother and his Army buddies up in my private beach houses. Now, my future brother-in-law shoots me dirty looks every time my phone rings, and I'd much rather have him gut you than me. Call me again, and you won't have to worry about getting fired, just about which mismatched suit and disgusting tie you want to be buried in. Windsor, I don't care!" Alastair yelled.

"He's kinda scary himself." Royce murmured.

Gary wrapped a hand around Alex's wrist and pulled him towards their assigned beach house and snatched the keys from his lover's hands. He unlocked the door and drug him inside. The house was nice. The living room was large, painted in a pale yellow, white couches, bamboo floors, driftwood coffee table. The kitchen was tiled with slate, painted in beige, outfitted with stainless steel appliances. There was a short hallway that led to a very large bedroom with a soothing pale blue paint job and a massive bed with dark blue blankets.

"Four poster. Cherry wood. Very nice." Stray murmured. He yelped as his back collided with the pale wall. There were two tongues in his mouth, and only one belonged to him. He moaned and grabbed Roach's hips and pulled him close.

"So, Alex, should we christen the beach house?" Gary purred.

There was a loud knock on the door and Gary groaned. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd fallen asleep, but he had. He stretched and pulled his pants on. The knocking on the door was getting progressively louder.

"What?" He asked as he wrenched the door open.

"We're all headed to the mainland. You gonna come with us?" Kira asked. She had a knowing look in her eyes and Gary knew his hair was messed up, and there were hickeys all up and down his neck, chest, and shoulders. And if _he_ could smell the sweat and sex, he knew that she could.

"Alex isn't a fan of bridges. Thought he was gonna have a panic attack coming over that big one." Gary shook his head.

"Yeah. Eric was telling me Stray needed one hell of a joint to keep from freaking out." There was a note of something that Roach couldn't identify. So he just shrugged.

"Hope you brought enough to go 'round. We'll get the two of you when we get back. Anything you want in particular?" She asked with a smile.

"Munchies of all kinds, loads of Funions. Stoli. Cigarettes, Camel Crush. A deck of cards. Anything else you think we might be needing."

"Okay. See you in an hour or two."

"Thanks, Kira!" Roach called to her retreating back.

"Said Alex was afraid of bridges." Kira shrugged. She dumped an armload of Doritos and Funions into the cart and grabbed a few bags of salt and vinegar chips as an after-thought.

"He is." John confirmed.

"Oh, fuck all... What kind of cigarettes does Gary smoke? Fuck, fuck, fuck." She muttered.

"Camel Crush." Simon said helpfully.

"Huh. Yeah. You're right..." Kira walked towards the glass booth that looked like it belonged to a bank, muttering under her breath about people being paranoid over cigarettes.

"Haha, dude, what the fuck?" Brandon laughed.

John stuck his head around the corner and rolled his eyes. There were four boxes of Slim-Jims and an entire shelf of vodka in the cart Eric was pushing. He was pulling a different one behind him with four kegs of beer.

Kira was pushing a cart with board games, blankets, towels, frozen foods, lunch meats, cheese, bread, charcoal, lighter fluid, lighters, sodas, a few coolers, citronella candles and tiki torches, hundreds of red plastic Solo cups, ping-pong balls, flashlights, batteries, aspirin, bandages, antiseptics, burn cream, butter-fly stitches, and a portable stereo system.

"You guys planning a party?" The guy behind the counter asked. His eyes were indubitably trained on Kira's cleavage.

"Yeah, something like that." Kira shrugged. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and rested her elbows on the counter. The kid's hands stuttered as he rang up a bag of chips and he swallowed hard.

John and Simon rolled their eyes. Eric tilted his head and smiled at the sight of Kira's boobs. Brandon reached into the shopping cart of items that had already been rung up and opened a bag of Cheetos.

"Look, I'm kind of in a rush here, and I've got four hundred dollars in cash. I figure that's enough to cover what we have here. You look like a smart kid with a good eye and a good memory. How about I just give you the cash and you ring us up retroactively? If there's anything left over, consider it a tip." Kira winked at the pimple-faced boy.

"Y-yeah. Sure. You need any help carrying this to the car?" The boy asked.

"No thanks, uh, Derek. Maybe next time." Kira smiled.

The carts were pulled outside and Derek stared after Kira. John and Simon lifted the heavy kegs into the limo with no trouble.

"You really played that kid, didn't you?" Soap chuckled.

"Please. I just saved us a shit-ton of money. Four hundred quid, sorry, _dollars_, is what just the _alcohol_ should have cost. It's like Mum used to say, 'if you got it, use it'. Besides. I enjoy the thrill of law breaking from time to time." Kira shrugged innocently.

"Who did my darling swindle this time?" Alastair asked.

He had been across the street in a different store; one with better deals and a wider variety of energy drinks. Among the cases of energy drinks there was sunscreen, shampoo, soap, dish washer fluid, laundry detergent. Things everyone else had forgotten, even Kira, the responsible one.

"Managed to convince the poor sod behind the counter that 400 was enough to cover everything." Simon chuckled.

"Well the alcohol, maybe..." Alastair muttered.

"They aren't answering?" Royce asked, still holding his bag of Cheetos.

"No." Archer muttered. He knocked on the beach house door harder.

"So leave them be. We're just dragging this stuff up to the unused house until it gets dark. I'm sure you guys are jet-lagged as hell, and, really, everyone just wants to fuck and take a nap before we party." Kira reminded him as they continued to unload the car and drag the supplies into one of the empty beach houses. Archer glared at the door to Roach and Stray's temporary home and turned away from the door.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Aleeeeex. Ungh... Fuck... Harder, Alex." Gary moaned. He wrapped his legs tighter around his foreign lover's waist and arched his back. Every slam of Stray's hips made him moan a little louder and buck a little harder.

"Gah... Fuck... John..." Simon was moaning at a volume barely above a whisper, but it was getting the job done. He tensed and shuddered and dug his fingertips into his lover's shoulders. He gasped and closed his eyes tightly.

"Jesus. You're better at this than I thought." Royce moaned. Archer murmured something about being under-estimated and fucked Brandon a little harder. He wasn't going to hide behind the pretense of being picky with his bed-mate.

"Oh, God I love you!" Kira screamed. She was normally quiet to the point of almost being mute during sex, but Alastair was _very_ good at doing whatever it was that felt so good.

"Whaaaaat?" Roach groaned.

"The door. Get i'." Stray sighed.

"I got it last time while you were sleeping." Gary insisted.

"Oh for the love of... Yeh feckin' owe me one."

Alex dressed quickly and opened the door. Kira was leaning against the door frame in a tight, low-cut halter top and low-rise jeans. There were two beers in her hands and Alex had to admit, she looked rather fuckable.

"You kids planning on helping us drag the booze down to the beach?" Kira asked.

"We need a little time ta clean up a bi'. We had some fun while you lot were shoppin'." He smirked.

"You sound so _very_ fucking Irish when you're sleepy. Were I uninvolved and you the same, I think I might possibly consider maybe kissing you right now. But, as it is, you _really_ smell like sex and we need to set up the beach for the upcoming party." Kira handed him the beers and walked away.

"Where'd the beer come from?" Gary asked.

"The Captain's sister. She says we gotta help move the booze and supplies. Handed me the beer and said I should shower so I won't smell like sex anymore." He chuckled.

"I could go for a shower."

Soap carefully arranged the logs and surrounded them with a few large rocks he'd found on the beach. Ghost scattered a little lighter fluid over the wood and lit them soon after. There were two large driftwood logs sitting around the fire to be used as seats, but large towels and blankets seemed to be preferred.

The booze and a small grill had been brought down to the shore and everyone except Roach and Stray was doing something to entertain themselves. The Sergeants in question soon walked through the large glass door at the rear of the house and walked towards the beach. They were smiling softly at each other and seemed to be laughing at some sort of private joke.

"Nice to see the two of you are finally joining us." Eric snapped.

Gary, still laughing, flicked him off. They were carrying several bottles of vodka and a large green blanket. The alcohol was dropped off at the metal patio furniture housing all of the rest of the alcohol. They dropped the green blanket onto the sand near the fire and they dropped gracelessly onto it.

Archer and Royce were throwing a football back and forth down near the water. Brandon was smiling at nothing, though everyone knew better than to think he was still high; Royce was just a naturally laid back guy. Eric seemed tense, but Gary supposed another good round of fucking would solve that problem.

Ghost was constructing an anatomically correct (and beautifully executed) mermaid in the sand. He was using the edge of a broken shell to define the scales on her tail and he seemed rather lost in his work. Soap was sitting next to him, sculpting a collection of dolphins to accompany the sea-faring maiden. Alastair was finally out of the stuffy suit and wearing shorts and flip-flops, cooking something that smelled absolutely _wonderful_ on the small grill he'd pulled down from one of the beach houses. There was music playing from the stereo on a table, and Roach recognized the band as Sublime.

There was something surreal and pretty about the beach in the late afternoon, knowing that there wasn't anything they could do to get kicked off the island. Stray was still contemplating the colors of the water as the sun started sinking lower, but a sharp whistle soon pierced the air and he winced away from the noise.

"Come on, kids. Time for supper!" Kira yelled.

Stretched out over various blankets, they happily munched on the burgers Alastair had cooked, along with the chips Kira had practically stolen.

"Alright boys. Down to business, then." Kira smiled widely. She was holding a six pack of beer and a stack of shot glasses.

"What game?" Soap asked.

"My favorite one, dear. Never Have I Ever." She grinned.

"With beer in shot glasses?" Ghost didn't sound convinced.

"If we do it any other way, chances are we'll all be too wasted to do anything else tonight." She stuck her tongue out and Simon gave into her God-awful glare.

The glasses were filled and passed around.

"Who's gonna start?" Gary asked.

"I will. My game, my go." Kira said.

"So go already." Simon huffed.

"Fine. Never have I ever shoplifted. And that incident at the store doesn't count as shoplifting!" She yelled before anyone could protest.

Gary, Alex, Eric, and Simon downed their shots and held their glasses out to be refilled. The turn passed clockwise and it was Alastair next.

"Never have I ever claimed to see a ghost. And that one doesn't count!" Alastair said, pointing to Simon.

The British Lieutenant drank (there was more than one reason he had his name), Soap and Kira (their Mum's house just _had_ to have been haunted), Stray (Ireland had a dark history that left its imprint everywhere) and Roach (always surrounded by the inexplicable...). They held out their glasses for a refill.

"Never have I ever told someone I loved them in a romantic way." Archer said pessimistically.

Everyone drank to that. He had to admit he was just a little surprised. He wasn't sure his Commanding Officers were capable of feeling love; the quick glance the two shared suddenly made him doubt that conclusion, though their expressions could have just been a trick of the dancing shadows cast by the fire.

"Hmm... Never have I ever had a food allergy." Royce murmured.

Roach muttered something under his breath and took a drink. Kira and Soap did as well.

"What are you guys allergic to?" Brandon asked.

"Shellfish." Gary made a face.

"Mushrooms." The MacTavish twins shrugged at the same time.

"Never have I ever gotten airsick." Stray said smugly.

Roach told him to fuck himself and downed his drink. Alastair did as well.

The game progressed for another hour, and it was discovered that Soap, Ghost, Roach, Kira, and Archer had all fooled around with someone in a movie theater, Roach had been hit by a car when he was a kid, Royce was prone to falling down stairs for no reason, and Alastair ran away from home when he was 17.

It wasn't long after Alastair's revelation that Archer declared he was bored and tuned the radio up louder. The music was loud, the fire was bright, the drinks were strong, and the sky was dark.

"Oh, no. The funniest part was that she didn't even realize she was naked!" Alastair laughed. The entire group roared with laughter at his story of a neighbor picking up the newspaper after a party and a late curfew.

"No, no, no. Better than that. It was my freshman year in college and I went to this party at a Fraternity house, it was the brother house to our Sorority, and it was the first time I drank tequila straight. I don't remember what happened, but I woke up in a friend's dorm room closet holding a bag that contained my swimsuit top, two candy bars, a jar of salsa, a condom filled with toothpaste, and a note that read "I'm the mother fucking walrus. Two hours later I found a YouTube video of me singing "Sons and Daughters" by The Decemberists with a cat in a backpack, aviator sunglasses on, and a bed sheet wrapped around me like a toga. I promised I wouldn't drink tequila again." Kira grinned.

Stories of drunken antics continued until everyone was almost too drunk to remember any. There was almost a noticeable drop in the amount of available alcohol. Gary stumbled over to the dark green blanket he'd been sharing with Alex and tripped over the sand and managed to land right between Stray's legs, his face falling against his lover's abs.

"You come here often?" Roach grinned.

"You are so fucking drunk." Stray giggled.

"Did you just say you wanna fuck while we're drunk?

"No, but that sounds like a good idea."

They were the first pair gone, though they began shedding their clothing before they even reached their beach house.

"Someone's getting laid." Alastair laughed.

"Yeah, you if you hurry the fuck up." Kira grabbed his shirt front and pulled him away from the fire.

"Come on, Brandon. It's about that time." Archer smirked.

"About what time?" Royce asked over the edge of his vodka shot.

"Time for you to suck my dick. Let's go."

Soap and Ghost were alone on the beach before they realized it. They'd been too wrapped up in demolishing their carefully constructed sand sculptures by playing their favorite game; "Who's The Dominant Personality This Time", which inevitably led to a very violent make-out session resulting in blood everywhere with no idea who it belonged to. John, as usual, won the game and had Riley pinned under him and began to unbutton his subordinate's pants.

"As cliched and romantic as it may be, sex on the beach leads to sand in places it doesn't belong. Sex in the shower solves that." Ghost suggested.

"Don't think you're getting out of getting fucked." The Captain growled.

Simon raised an eyebrow and arched his hips into John's. They both groaned as their erections touched.

"Good point." Soap panted. He pulled his partner from the sand and drug him back to the house.

* * *

**A/N2:** This is the end of Day One, but not the prompt. The important bit is this: I'm was recently invited to a Call of Duty/Assassin's Creed Slash Fan site by the beautiful and wonderful Ameij. I'm running **EXCLUSIVE** pieces on that website, as in one-shots that I **WILL NOT** be posting here (but I **WILL** continue posting here, so not to fret). The website is **XDCU(dot)com/ACOD** and my username is Trish. But I encourage you to read all the stories and check out all of the pictures posted there. _**IMPORTANTLY!**_ Be careful. **XDCU/ACOD IS NSFW, NOT SAFE FOR WORK, EXPLICIT, GRAPHIC.** But it's so fucking wonderful. I love all of you and hope to see you there.


	22. Drinking Games Day Two

**A/N:** This is the continuation of the previous chapter. There will be at least one more after this, and I hope you guys enjoy this one. :D **WARNING:** Explicit references to drug use, alcohol use, and sex with random partners. Mostly male/male partnerships. If that offends you and you read it anyway, please get out of my gene pool and stop polluting it. Flames will be used to roast trolls, and troll flesh will be sold for top dollar on the black market to Kanye West so he can keep being the top troll. He says he'd like to let me finish, but he, apparently, has the best troll of all time. Anyway...

**xGhostxStealth:** There are a whole lot of concepts I want to include in the Drinking Games series, so the chapters are gonna be long (this one is 4,000 words too XD) And once I got the invitation from Ameij... Well, It would be impossible for me to say no, haha. I enjoy the concept of Simon wanting to size someone up. Kira _is_ almost a sister to him...

**duvalia:** Hehe. Archer/Royce... That's a pairing I rather like, and it helps that I have personal experience with their character bases. XD And I think the casual sex is an awesome change from "Let's hurry up and get off before someone shoots us". XD

**Commander Aldebaran: **Well... At least your stumbling on XDCU at work was accidental. I do it intentionally because my laptop was stolen and Mum's won't access the site. XP I'm glad you liked that chapter though. :D

**PhonyPrincess:** Archer is back! Haha. I think every group needs a sneaky one. ;D Haha. I would fight to the death! Haha. :P

**Destiny xD:** There's nothing wrong with liking the word "Fuck". It happens to be a very nice word. Very versatile. XD Archer/Royce huh? Yeah. Next chapter is mostly screwing. Less emphasis on other interactions... XD And awesome? Iono. Lots of practice. Encouragement to try new things from my lovely reviewers... I guess it just happens, haha.

**UnlikeAnyOtherDay:** Haha. Yes. Roach/Stray is growing in popularity, haha. There will be more of them, definitely. Haha.

**Deviant-Jubilant:** Ah. There is a bigger weed segment here, lol. Kira seems to have quite the fanbase, hahaha. And besides, live fast and leave behind an abused corpse. Your body is an amusement park. Speed limits are overrated. Your liver will forgive you eventually. It's only illegal if you get caught. Even if you blackout, you're sure to find the video up on YouTube later. And with philosophies like that, I wouldn't be worried about having friends like 141. XD

**MissPumpkinHead:** Everything is cannon if you look close enough. XD I made up names for Archer and Royce, so... lol. Here's the next one. :D

**Ameij:** Haha. Extended vacation for the guys? Sure. Why not? Lol. Perverted confessions, huh? Next chapter, we get to know them very well... Heheh... MINE IS AN EVIL LAUGH! XD The chapters are gradually getting more explicit, lol. This one has more detail... The next one... Well... We'll just see how it goes. ;D

* * *

"When we arrive, sons and daughters, we'll make our homes on the water. We'll build our walls aluminum. We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon now..."

Alastair smiled into his pillow. Kira was awake and singing while she made breakfast. It was only nine in the morning, and she was already up and thinking of everyone else. He slowly sat up and cracked his neck. The beach house smelled like pancakes and eggs and bacon and maple syrup with a hint of sand and sea underneath. Best get up now and see what he could do to help...

The door swung open and Gary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, hey Alastair." He yawned.

The estate agent was dressed much more casually than he had been when he was first introduced to everyone.

"We're going to have breakfast on the beach if you and Alex are interested." He said.

"Kira's up and cooking already?" Simon didn't seem surprised.

"I take it she does this kind of thing often." Alastair smiled.

"All the time." Ghost smiled.

Even Archer had pulled himself from the soft bed early enough to eat, though there was no conversation on his part, just a lot of glaring and cursing at the sun.

The food was spread out on a collection of blankets, much like a picnic, around where the fire had burned the night before. It was nice, it was normal, it was fun, it was everything Shepherd had sent them away to experience. Kira's pancakes were, simply put, amazing. They needed only the slightest bit of syrup, though Royce still insisted on smothering them with it and making a disastrous mess.

"This is perfect. We can spend the whole day by the beach, spend the night boozing it up and throwing a party, fuck until dawn, and then repeat." Kira sighed. What little was left of the food Archer was feeding to the seagulls and whatever else happened to be nearby.

"Eric! Stop throwing pancakes at me!" Royce yelled. Archer seemed to be having fun pelting the linguist with whatever he could get his quick little hands on.

Stray and Roach were walking along the water's edge. Gary was chewing on his lower lip, agonizing over something that was probably of no consequence. Alex recognized this and chuckled softly to himself. He reached out and took Sanderson's hand and laughed openly at the surprised blush that tinted the American's cheeks. What did he care? Everyone here knew about their relationship...

"I wonder how cold the water is." Stray murmured.

Before Roach could react, Alex had pushed him and Gary, being the clumsy man he was, fell head-first into the waves. While this would ordinarily be no cause for concern, it would be just his luck for Sanderson to drown in a few feet of water. Knowing this, the Irish sergeant grabbed his lover by the back of the shirt and pulled him, sputtering and coughing, from the water.

"You motherfucker!" Sanderson choked. He tackled Kennedy with a grin.

"Hey, isn't that Stray beating up on your favorite Sergeant?" Archer asked with a yawn.

Soap looked over and rolled his eyes at the two fighting in the surf.

"One of them is gonna end up dead." He sighed and trudged his way down the beach. He made a halfhearted attempt to separate the two, but they apparently decided to work together to attack him and pull him into the cool water.

"Well that's just unfair." Ghost rose and jogged down to the water's edge to even up the odds. It was only a matter of seconds before something shiny was seen washed up on the sand.

"Aren't those his favorite sunglasses?" Royce went to pick them up so they wouldn't get ruined or washed out to sea, but his intentions were mistaken and he was pulled underwater.

That, of course, irritated Archer. He wasn't a romantic, and he wasn't going to say he was feeling protective, but the odds were uneven and he didn't appreciate Brandon being ambushed like that.

Kira was insistent that her tan needed work and Alastair wasn't going to uneven the odds that the Task Force had worked so hard to perfect. It was only a matter of ten or fifteen minutes before the crew returned to shore, dripping, bruised, bleeding, exhausted, and laughing.

"I swear. You boys are going to end up killing one another." Kira admonished. She was forcing her twin to stay still so she could look at a small cut under his left eye.

While John was being lectured by his sister, and Simon mourned the loss of his sunglasses, Gary made his way to a small bag lying on the green blanket he'd spread out the night before. He opened up an old, leather Bible with hollowed out pages and removed a joint from the hiding-place.

"You planning on sharing?" Stray asked. Roach jumped at the voice in his ear and glared.

"Of course." The American insisted.

The only person that took coaxing was Alastair. He was moderately concerned about the random drug tests that were performed at the estate agency. Kira reminded him he owned the goddamned business, and they had plenty of time on the island for his system to clear. He agreed on the condition that someone bring down snacks and sodas before they got high.

It was approximately fifteen minutes and four joints later when Kira started laughing at Alastair. He was flopping his hand back and forth in front of his face with a horrified expression.

"Did you guys buy milk? My bones are all floppy and I need the calcium to get back to normal." He whimpered.

Everyone started laughing at his "startling realization" and Royce frowned at an empty chip bag in his hands.

"Dude... This explains _so much_." He whispered.

"What does it explain?" Archer asked.

"His bones are all floppy because _I took his calcium!_ I ate it through the Cheetos!" He seemed horrified by his own actions.

Roach, who was lying on his back, staring up at a cloud when that statement was so fearfully uttered, sat up and said, "The calcium in Cheetos comes from Chester the Cheetah. Alastair just sucks at keeping his bones in check."

Soap was looking at a bag of mini-muffins in his lap with a frown.

"What's wrong?" Ghost asked.

"I can't remember how to open them." The Captain pouted. Ghost stabbed the package with a knife that he didn't remember grabbing and the Captain thanked him for the help. Ghost stuck the knife in the sand and proceeded to jump away from the spot onto a nearby blanket, swearing it was quicksand and everyone was going to die if they weren't careful. They all listened to him and jumped onto the nearest blanket, towel, or, in Roach's case, Stray's lap. Kira was the only one who remained on the sand.

"You guys need to stop being so loud. I can't taste my fucking cupcakes with you bastards screaming." She hissed.

Everyone quieted down for a moment and just stared at her while she nibbled on the corner of her cupcake with a delighted expression. The silence only lasted for a few minutes, because Alastair fell off the log he was crouched on and started yelling for help from the quicksand. The Task Force mobilized quickly and helped pull Alastair from the quicksand. He grinned at Archer, who'd pulled him up and back onto the log, and gave him a peck on the lips. Everyone froze for half a second, because shortly after the kiss, Kira squealed.

"I got to the cream center!" She whispered with a smile. She clearly hadn't seen the act. Everyone returned to their respective safe-zones where the quicksand wouldn't get them (aside from Kira, who presumably couldn't hear them over the taste of her Hostess Snack).

"Hmm. Lex?" Gary murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna close my eyes for a second. The water is too bright. Let me know when that big bird comes back and makes it dark again." He murmured.

"Yeah, okay."

Sanderson put his head in Kennedy's lap and closed his eyes for only a second.

It was darker outside when he opened his eyes, but he'd sobered up during his nap and realized that it was late afternoon. It seemed everyone else was sober as well, and it didn't look like he'd missed much while he was sleeping. He looked up and saw that he was still lying in Stray's lap, but the Irish Sergeant was holding a beer in one hand.

"Well hello there." Alex smiled. He leaned forward and kissed Gary.

"What happened while I was out?" He sat up and tried working a kink out of his neck.

"Not too much. Though you missed an epic debate about if Link would be gay if he slept with Sheik."

"But... Sheik is just Zelda dressed up."

"No. Sheik is Zelda's male alter-ego."

"But it's still Zelda. If you put on a skirt and a blouse and makeup and insist we call you Alexis, you're still a guy under the costume."

"But Sheik was a magical creation of Zelda's. How do we know there weren't male bits under that armor?" Stray asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Back to that argument?" Ghost chuckled. He held a beer out to Roach, who took it with a smile.

Kira was working on restarting their fire with Royce and a grin, Ghost was sculpting something in the sand with Soap's help, and Alastair was watching Archer through the small flames thrown off by their bonfire-in-progress.

"Did... Did I imagine Alastair kissing Brandon while I was high, or did that really happen while Kira was eating a cupcake?"

"Nope. That one happened." Alex smiled.

"I need to take a walk and get some feeling back in my left side. You wanna come with me?" Roach asked.

"Nah. Kira said something about starting food soon. You know how I am."

Gary shrugged and started walking along the water, kicking at the wet sand with his bare feet. He heard yelling behind him, but thought nothing of it. He was sure it was just another of those silly little arguments over which drinking game to play. He walked away from the noise and the light for a little ways and focused on the sound of the water. He usually felt disconnected after coming down from a high, and there were two methods he typically used to remedy that: Spending time alone with Alex (usually meaning sex), and spending a few minutes with himself so he could get back in the right state of mind.

When he returned, they had pulled an extension cord and a blender seemingly from nowhere, and Kira was drinking a bucket-sized margarita.

"What are we playing?" He asked with a smile. He sat down next to Stray and took a shot of vodka from the man.

"We are going to be playing The Name Game." Kira smiled.

"Fuck." John muttered.

"What's the name game?" Royce asked.

"It's easy. We sit in a circle, and I'll say the name of a famous or semi-famous person like... Nathan Fillon. And the next person has to give the name of a famous person whose first name starts with the first letter of the previous person's last name. If a single name or a name with the first and last name starting with the same letter is given, direction reverses." Kira explained.

"That sounds really fucking hard." Royce frowned.

"When does the drinking part come in?" Archer asked.

"It's not hard. John, Simon and I will demonstrate. I'll go first... Mel Brooks." Kira said.

"Bart Simpson." John countered.

"Sally Field." Simon smirked.

"Fanny Flagg." Kira said. Simon frowned. The order had been reversed.

"Farrah Fawcett." Simon said quickly. The order was re-reversed and it was again Kira's turn.

"Fay Wolf." She returned.

"Winston Churchill." John said.

"Cyndi Lauper."

"Lisa Simpson." Kira said with narrowed eyes.

"...Fuck."

"Aha! Time is up! What happens now, children, is that John has to drink, and drink, and drink, until it's his turn again, when he can come up with an appropriate name." Kira smiled.

"Oh. That's easier to follow than it sounded at first." Gary admitted.

"Super! Everybody got drinks? Good. Let's go!"

Alastair started first with "Eddy Izard", and it rotated to Archer, who replied with "Imogen Heap", followed by Kira's response of "Hans Zimmer". Royce couldn't come up with someone famous that started with a Z and began to drink his beer. Roach recovered and responded with "Ziggy Marley". Ghost retorted with "M. Night Shamalan". Next to go was Stray, "Salma Hayek". Roach was next, but Royce couldn't tell what he said, then Soap, but he was hard to understand anyway...

The Name Game lasted about three more passes around the fire before everyone ran out of names. They decided a different game was in order, and it was suggested they play 20 Questions. Kira held up a stack of index cards and a collection of multicolored Sharpies and passed them around.

"Write a name of a famous person, living dead, fictional or real, don't let anyone else see, and pass it to the left. You have twenty questions to figure out who you are." Alastair explained.

The cards were written on, passed around, licked, and stuck to foreheads. They whole lot of them sat and laughed at how ridiculous everyone looked for a few minutes before they actually started playing.

Ghost, who claimed to be the best at the game went first.

"Real or fictional?" He asked.

"Real."

"Living or dead?"

"Dead."

"Recent or Historical?"

"Historical."

"Military or Civilian?"

"Military."

"Nationality?"

"American."

"Stonewall Jackson." He grinned. He reached up, peeled the card from his forehead and grinned triumphantly when he saw he was correct.

"How did you know the answer?" Roach whined.

"You're easy to read." Simon smiled and ruffled his hair.

Simon, John, Kira, and Stray were the only ones to get their cards right and four more games were played before they grew tired of guessing too wrong and drinking too much because of it and they settled for just drinking and talking.

Gary was a little more than just drunk, and was leaning heavily on his Executive Officer with a drunken grin.

"You know, you aren't so bad-lookin' without that mask on." He muttered.

"So I've been told." Ghost replied mildly.

"I bet you I could do things to you that you wouldn't believe."

Ghost raised an eyebrow at him while he thought.

"Stumble your way up to your room. I'll be there." He winked.

Roach stood up, swayed around, and stumbled up the dune to the beach house he shared with Stray. There was a light thrown on, and a crash sounded from the house. Ghost sighed and shook his head. He muttered something about making sure the idiot wasn't pinned under something heavy, and he staggered towards the house. He'd only just locked the glass door behind himself when he was thrown against it.

"Forward, aren't you?" He chuckled.

"You have no idea." Gary purred.

"So give me a better one."

Stray put the bottle to his lips and tipped it all the way back, trying to drain even the dregs from the bottle. He started falling backwards, but the unfortunate action was stopped by a broad chest and strong arms. He looked up and turned his head and saw Captain MacTavish looking down at him. He threw his arm back and around his CO's neck and kissed him firmly on the lips. With a groan, John slid his hands down Alex's sides and his fingers curled tightly around the sniper's hips, pulling them close to one another. Kennedy couldn't help but moan at the feeling of hard muscle against his back. The sound stirred MacTavish's blood and he knew exactly who he was bedding for the night.

"Let's play a game." Kira purred to Alastair.

"What game?" He asked.

"A fun one." She winked. Before he could question her further, she turned to Royce, whispered something in his ear and the two of them disappeared.

"Ohhh, that game." Alastair smiled. He turned to Archer, who was glaring after Kira and Brandon and he pounced on him.

"What the hell?" Eric demanded. Alastair kissed him again and it seemed the moody sniper got the hint.

Sanderson slowly lowered himself onto Riley's hard-on with a keening moan. Simon's hands were on his hips and he gave himself a moment to adjust before he slowly rose up and slid back down. It was a beautiful sensation, and he took his time to revel in it. That was apparently too slow for the Lieutenant, who turned them over and began to hit faster and harder than the previous pace. Gary buried his face in the crook of Ghost's neck and sighed; The Lieutenant smelled very different from Sergeant Kennedy. Where Alex smelled like rain and forest and earth, Simon smelled like smoke and steel and spice. For a single, drunken moment, he wondered if the Lieutenant would taste the same way he smelled, and his attention was drawn towards a single pale scar on his bed-mate's neck and he wondered if the scar would feel any differently than the skin surrounding it. He licked at the scar with a moan. The skin was smooth under his tongue and it tasted like salt and sea. He screamed when Ghost finally got the angle just right and his vision went white. His scream seemed to encourage Riley to fuck him harder and he couldn't help bucking to meet the thrusts.

There was no hiding the build difference between Soap and Stray. Stray stood a few noticeable inches shorter, and was much slimmer, had an understated build, looked more like a runner than a weight-lifter. It wasn't very surprising when John lifted him with no difficulty and pinned him against the wall. Alex wrapped his legs around the Captain's waist and kissed the throbbing pulse-point under his Captain's ear. His tongue ran over the points of his teeth as Soap so slowly entered him. It was cute of him to take his time and all, but Alex really just wanted to get fucked harder than necessary right here against the wall. He said as much and gasped when he was given what he wanted. There were bruises, already a pale blue, blossoming on his hips from the Scotsman's grip. Stray arched and moaned and reached for anything to anchor him. He bit the CO's neck to try and hold his moans back. John was rough, didn't hold back... It was different from Gary and how he liked to take his time with it all...

It was awkward for Royce at first. This was the Captain's sister he was seeing naked... Until she kissed him and told him to do whatever he wanted to her. Then she was just Kira. Then she was a willing participant in whatever he had planned. He was a little out of his element at first. He was so used to having Eric tell him what to do. Now there was no Archer holding him down, brutalizing him in a strangely beautiful way. He was the one calling the shots, setting the pace. Kira's perfume was light and floral and vastly different from the dark scent that seemed to cling to Archer naturally; the smell of gunpowder and stale smoke and a cologne so faint it was almost residual. She was vocal, and wasn't afraid to tell him what he was doing wrong. Or, more often, right.

Alastair was a little too close to a pretty boy for Archer's tastes. He had the same way of writhing under Eric's gaze though. The moment Archer slammed into the estate agent, he knew that this might not have been Alastair's first time, but it was his first time in a long time. Alastair was tight, very tight, and seemed torn between pain and pleasure. Rather than kill the mood completely, Eric decided to keep things gentle slow for a few minutes, long enough for "Scott" to get used to things, just long enough. He arched his back and moaned in an almost girlish way and Eric ran gun-calloused hands down the man's sides. There were no scars, no lingering bruises or half-healed cuts. The skin was a smooth, pale expanse of perfection, and it slid under his hands like something exotic. Alastair bit at his earlobe and he smirked to himself. It didn't matter that it smelled like Alastair bathed in his expensive cologne or that his skin tasted like the booze he'd spilled all over himself. It was the rush or something new, and that's what was getting him off at the moment.

Despite how everything had changed with their partner, how it was all different, they all knew, somewhere in the back of their alcohol- and lust-addled brains, sometimes things were better with someone who knew you.

* * *

**A/N2: **Dun Dun Duuuuun! Cliffhanger much? Haha. Don't worry. Nothing _too_ bad happens. ;D **And now a word from our sponsors:**

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	23. Drinking Games Day Three

**A/N:** **WARNING! WARNING! SPOILER ALERTS AHEAD!** In the event you haven't seen the film "Moulin Rouge", I kind of ruin the ending for you in this chapter. XD Slight OOC-ness when the guys are watching it, but it's always fun to mess with them. :P The other movie I mention (but don't actually name) where everyone is vomiting blood is called "Cabin Fever 2". No real plot line, but it's not a bad film...I apologize for the length of time this one has taken. I had a minor "emotional breakdown" in which I sat around for a whole day and watched musicals and horror movies while stuffing my face with Oreo cookies. Then, a few days later, my immune system tanked and I spent an entire day curled up with a book under a foot of blankets while I tried to avoid thinking about what a shit-storm my office would be with me gone. -_-;

**xGhostxStealth:** I know plenty of people who favorite or put me on alert and don't click the REVIEW button. It sad-faces me. :( haha. I finally have a new laptop of my own. Now it's just a matter of getting it to cooperate... It seems to think DeviantArt is putting me at risk for viruses. XP Canon pairings are back for this one. I had my little bit of fun, and found that I much prefer the canon unless something in particular catches my fancy.

**PhonyPrincess:** Lol. I just wanted to see how many directions I could pull the characters in. That, and this would give me an opportunity to examine the way everyone would react after that crazy partner-swap, haha. I fall in love with Kira a little more every time I write her. :) Archer/Stray, you say? Hmm... I'll take that one into consideration... See if Epsilon and Malachite will get their lazy asses in gear and help me out with it XD. Also! **DO NOT CHALLENGE ME! YOU KNOW NOT WITH WHOM YOU DEAL! I GIVE NO QUARTER, AND I TAKE ALL YOUR COOKIES! **(I'm in a bit of an odd mood today. I was a bad little child at the office today and was taking the bathroom signs off the wall and putting them back upside down and to the wrong door. XD)

**Commander Aldebaran:** Haha. Thank you. It's a lot of effort to take these guys and put them in a situation where they're supposed to be laid back without killing their character. And if I could keep Epsilon (my muse) and Malachite (my inspiration) on task, I think I could easily detail every day of the two months. Problem is, they're whining that this is been on to long... Little shits... I just have to see where this runs...

**Destiny xD:** The switch-up is actually based on a "party game" a friend of mine told me about. He was visiting his cousin in Australia and everyone was sitting in his cousin's living room, totally trashed, and they took their car keys and put them in this big bowl and you were supposed to grab a set of keys, and whoever they belonged to was the person you were to bed. So I kinda like them going off in random pairs. XD Reactions are included with this one, and I think they might surprise you. :P

**duvalia:** Of course it would be Roach to proposition Ghost! There's a reason they call alcohol "liquid courage", luv. XD And yes, I did go back and catch that "Brandon" vs "Eric" error. Hope it wasn't too distracting. Sometimes I completely blank on which character I'm talking about because I swear I have hit-and-run stupidity... Haha. If Soap and Kira... Traded places? That is seriously the first thing that came to mind. I have a feeling that if Kira were to ever go military, she'd be like Rain from the first Resident Evil film. (Holy crap I love Michelle Rodriguez). Haha. Water fight was a lot of fun to write, I just had to figure out how to get everyone involved.

**FuriousPanda:** Awh. Thank you. I gotta tell you, I was checking my email at 0630 right after my alarm went off (like I do every day, thank you BlackBerry...) and I read "To say this is hot would be an insult" and my sleep-addled brain immediately thought "Fuck. Another flamer? Damn itttttttt!" And then I read the rest of the review and I felt bad for jumping to conclusions. I'm glad you like the chapters dear. :)

**MissPumpkinHead:** You're not stupid! I do the same thing sometimes. The other day I was handed some paperwork and told to make a contract of it and I stared at the paperwork for five minutes because I couldn't remember how to do the breakdown of the work. -_-; Ahah... I love Ghost/Roach. Actually, I kinda love Roach/anyone for that matter. He's just so adorable. XD And yeah, random pairings, FTW. Lol. Male vs. Female Sheik was an argument a few friends of mine had while they were under the influence of various substances and they were arguing over which one it would be. I had to include it. :P

**UnlikeAnyOtherDay:** O_O I was initially tempted to leave my review response as just that face over there, but then I realized you might take it the wrong way. XD A male friend of mine was talking to me about how I like drinking and watching (certain) sports and playing Xbox and how I write awesome yaoi, and I don't get pissed over petty stuff like most girls and he wanted to know why I'm not married yet and if I'd be willing marry him. You reminded me of Charles. XD I'm glad you like it so much dearest.

**xStealthxSniperx:** I don't understand why people turn off anonymous reviewing... It used to irritate me before I opened an account and started my own work that I just couldn't tell someone I liked their story for lack of an account. So to prevent that torment from happening to others, you can always review on any of my stories without an account. :D I'm so happy you like them.

**iTestedGarrussReach:** You are more than worthy, my love. If it weren't for kids like you reviewing my work, I daresay my fragile ego would be in tatters and I'd probably be too depressed to write. XD In my office, if I squeal... Well, they just look at me strangely and ask me if I've manage to hurt myself in a clumsy fit. XP See, I've NEVER don drugs (drinking don't count!), but I am a paranoid individual that happens to hide EVERYTHING, so the Bible idea was really my inner-sneak showing up. XD And I'm pretty sure I told you that I was fine with you borrowing Kira and Stray... Hell, I can't ever remember... Thank you for the ego-stroking. I love reading reviews or something at work. It makes everything more bearable. :)

**Angel-Of-Outlaws:** Thank you. I just think Soap/Ghost is too obvious to be anything but cannon, so. :P Haha. Thanks for the review, luv.

* * *

Some habits are so deeply ingrained, you can't help but keep up with them. Hangover or not, every member of Task Force 141 was awake before the sun got too far above the horizon. Thinking about it, that was probably for the best.

Roach yawned and looked at his bed-mate. Ghost. He remembered teasing the Lieutenant. He remembered the sex, how it was angry and fast and rough. He stretched and Simon opened his eyes. There was the sound of a door opening in the front of the house and shuffling footsteps. They shared a glance and a smile. Simon saluted the Sergeant and pulled himself out of bed and dressed. He waved to Stray as they passed in the hall. Alex's pants were unbuttoned and hanging low. His shirt was tossed over his shoulder and he was smiling down at his still-naked lover.

"Have fun with the XO?" Alex asked.

"Have fun with the CO?"

"Could've been better. Call me biased, but I think you're my favorite person to fuck. I think I'm too used to calling the shots." Alex crawled up the bed and kissed Gary's lips with a smirk.

"I think I'm too used to you calling the shots. Riley kept wanting to rush it all. Like it was some kind of race to get off."

Riley dropped onto the bed next to John and closed his eyes.

"Something the matter?" MacTavish asked.

"It was too tame." Ghost frowned.

"Sado-masochistic little fucker."

"How was Kennedy?"

"Hm."

"Guess that answers that question..."

"It wasn't bad. Wasn't the same, but it wasn't bad..."

"Too tame?" Ghost smirked.

"Fuck off." Soap laughed.

Kira heard Royce moving around and she sat up. She rubbed her eyes and reached for her clothes. Brandon looked a bit nervous and slightly embarrassed. She dressed with a stretch and a yawn and wandered to her own beach house.

"I think I'm allergic to her perfume. Ugh. It's all I can smell." Royce frowned.

"I think you could switch Kira and Alastair and I'd have a hard time telling the difference. He's such a little girl. Thought I was gonna break him." Archer sneered. He lit a cigarette and watched the blueish smoke rise towards the ceiling.

"I had better sex in high school. Looks like he's just too used to being on the bottom." Kira shrugged.

"Well if Eric is like how he was with me all the time, I don't see how Brandon can stand it." Alastair shuddered.

"Poor baby. Want me to make it up to you?" She cooed.

It seemed everyone wanted to take a shower, get something to eat, and laze about.

"Is it fucking raining?" Royce walked over to the large window and looked around outside.

The entire sky was a dark and angry gray. Lightning flickered behind the clouds and the sand was packed down by heavy raindrops. A shrill, piercing ring echoed through the house and Archer traced the sound back to the kitchen where a cordless phone sat on the island.

"Hello?" Stray asked.

"Number five. We're setting up for a movie. You coming?" Kira asked.

"We'll be there in ten minutes." Ghost said after glancing over his shoulder at Soap, who was rummaging through his bag, trying to find his favorite shirt.

The main room was bare of decoration except for several large bean-bags that could've passed for mattresses with their size and flat, rectangular shape. The sliding glass door had been covered with thick blankets and it would have been incredibly dark, were it not for the various candles and the light in the hallway. A large projector was hooked up to a laptop and there was an entire wall painted with the background of Alastair's computer, which happened to be a black and white picture of Kira in a graveyard.

"Creepy." Roach muttered.

He sat on a beanbag and Alex joined him. Royce and Archer were already there and waiting for the movies to start. Kira was handing out sodas and Alastair was going through a collection of DVDs, trying to decide what they should watch first. Ghost and Soap sprinted through the door, dripping and flinging water at one another, laughing like no one had heard them laugh before. John pulled his jacket off, and wrung the water out over Simon's head. The Lieutenant hissed and jumped away from the attack in a feline manner. Soap laughed harder and hung the wet coat on the coat rack with all of the other jackets. Their sandy shoes were toed off by the door and they took up the only open bean bag on the floor.

"Now that we're all here... Alastair, start the movie." Kira ordered.

"What's the magic word?" He demanded.

"Now." She glared.

Alastair realized it was a losing fight and clicked the play button after taking the screen full-size. There was a beeping and Kira squealed something about popcorn being ready.

There were several large bowls in various neon colors that were passed around full of popcorn to go with their drinks and the light in the hall was shut off. Everyone nestled down into their various bean-bag seats and inched closer to their partners.

The DVD menu showed up and Gary squealed in a very fan-girlish manner. Everyone stared at him with a collection of strange looks.

"What? I like Serenity." He pouted.

Everyone laughed and Alastair pushed play.

"Someone has a crush they didn't tell me about." Alex murmured.

"What are you talking about?" Gary whispered.

"I'm talking about that little girl giggle you get when Jayne walks on screen." Stray teased.

"Shuddup." Sanderson pouted. Kennedy smiled and kissed him quickly.

"Stop with the PDA!" Ghost yelled. He threw a handful of popcorn at the Sergeants, who kindly told him he could fuck himself.

Occasionally, one of them would get up and come back with an armload of drinks or more popcorn, but they generally remained sprawled over the floor, staring at the wall covered with the projected movie.

"Wait, so, they're after the girl because of why now?" Archer asked.

"Because she's a psychic and the fascist government was experimenting on her to turn her into a weapon and her brother broke her out, that's why." Royce explained.

"I think I like it better when it was just about explosions and cowboy-pirates in space." Eric muttered.

The film ended and there was a short-lived debate over which film they should watch next. It ended with Kira ultimately insisting that since the vacation was _really_ her idea, that she should be the one to decide. Soap and Ghost sighed. Her favorite genres were horror and action, meaning they were either going to have to deal with copious amounts of explosions, or copious amounts of senseless gore. Rather than disappoint, she selected Drive-Thru; A movie about the ghost of a dead boy trying to kill the children of the people who killed him. And generally succeeding.

"Oh my God. Those fuckers are so obnoxious!" Archer groaned about the first characters on screen.

"Don't get too attached..." Kira warned.

"Jesus H. Christ! His head was just stuck in a fryer vat by a psychotic clown with a meat cleaver!" Royce squeaked.

"Told you not to get too attached." Kira laughed.

The film continued to progress, and while the hints as to the psycho's next victim were obvious to the audience, at least the characters were intelligent enough to eventually figure them out.

"Ahaha! Aberzombie and Bitch? That's priceless!" Stray laughed at an insult thrown on screen and he caught Roach watching him.

"What?" He asked.

"You're adorable when you laugh." Gary smiled.

"Just adorable? Not impossibly sexy or wonderfully gorgeous?"

"Shut up, freak." Sanderson kissed Kennedy, and they were again pelted by a handful of popcorn by Riley. They didn't break or pause this time, not even to flick him off. Alex's tongue outlined the American's lips that soon opened and welcomed the intrusion.

"Get a room!" Archer teased, throwing a bottle cap at them.

"No. No, they're okay." Kira breathed.

Alex's hands curled gently around Gary's face and held him close. The novelty of the two making out soon wore off and everyone returned their attention to the wall with the movie. The two parted and smiled at one another before inching closer to each other. They half-expected to hear sly comments about "Ickle Gawwie and Ickle Awwex cudduwwing duwwing a movie", but they glanced around and realized they weren't the only ones with the idea that getting close might not be a bad thing.

Royce shuddered involuntarily and almost imperceptibly as his damp clothing continued to dry. Archer pulled him closer and spotted a blanket nearby and pulled it over them. Brandon moved closer to his moody companion with a content sigh. Eric rolled his eyes and pulled him closer.

When the movie ended Kira turned the projector and laptop off and lit more candles.

"Board games!" She grinned. This was cause for more than just a little wariness from the entire crew. Kira was eccentric on her best days, and they had no way of knowing just what was in store for them.

"I brought all the fun ones, like Monopoly, Yahtzee, Bridge... I'm definitely just kidding. We have Apples To Apples, Pictionary..."

"Do we have to play something with so many rules?" Royce sighed.

"Well I guess we could all just sit on our asses and play truth or dare or something lame like that." Kira rolled her eyes.

"I liked Never Have I Ever better..." Gary muttered.

"Yeah. I liked that one too." Archer agreed.

"Oh, fucking fine. Assholes... Picking a lame game..." She muttered under her breath.

They again filled shot glasses with beer to try to avoid getting wasted too early on in the game.

"Never have I ever worked a desk job." Roach started.

Archer downed his shot, having worked one summer in a library, Kira was a teacher's assistant in high school, Alastair still did a lot of his own paperwork out of sheer paranoia that someone else would fuck it up, and the most surprising of all, _Ghost _had worked in an office for the first semester of his senior year in high school.

"_You_ were a _secretary_?" Archer laughed.

"I could just picture him sitting behind some computer all day answering phones and telling everyone who called to go fuck themselves." Roach agreed, laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

"You have to dress up for this office job, Simon?" John asked with a smirk.

"So what if I did?" The Lieutenant demanded.

"Just wondering if you have any left-over suits lying around." He shrugged innocently.

"No! Absolutely not! You are not going to abandon the game in the beginning to go fuck over the concept of Riley in a suit! Forbade!" Kira yelled.

The two made a silent agreement to pick that thread up later. Kira settled back down next to Alastair and told Stray it was his turn.

"Never have I ever failed a class in school." He said smugly.

Kira said something about pre-calculus with an asshole teacher and downed her shot. Her twin took his drink and said he flunked out of physics his junior year of high school. Archer said he bombed English 9.

"Now how is it the only classes the Captain and his sister failed were during their same year of high school?" Gary asked teasingly.

"We were both sleeping with the same guy. James was one hell of a distraction... What? It's true! Ew. Not at the same time you pervert..." Kira muttered. She flicked Archer off in retaliation for his suggestive smile and the turn moved to Simon.

"Never have I ever had sex with someone in a public bathroom stall." Simon said after a moment's thought.

Gary blushed and nervously took his shot. Alex grinned and downed his as well.

"I'm not even gonna ask." Archer cringed.

"I am." Kira smiled.

"Well I'm not telling so nyah." Roach stuck his tongue out in a very cartoonish and immature way. Kira returned fire and everyone chuckled at their antics.

Stray informed everyone that he had never ever dyed his hair. Kira informed everyone that she had been a red-head for the first semester of her freshman year at college, and Alastair had apparently lost a bet in middle school that left him with neon pink hair for two months.

Ghost's turn revealed that he had never had someone break up with him. With a sad sigh, Gary took a drink, mumbling about how difficult middle school could be. John drank, as did Kira, and, after a bit of prodding by Archer, it was revealed that the boy they were both sleeping with had broken up with them. At the same time. During a conference call between the three of them. It was also revealed that James had been kidnapped and tied to a chair by a mutual friend that liked Kira and feared John more than he liked and feared the cheating bastard. The poor ex was then subjected to a horrific argument between the twins to see who would get to beat him first. He spent the next three weeks explaining the broken ribs and bruises as an unfortunate incident in which he tripped over his mother's Yorkie and fell down the stairs. Twice.

The thread of the conversation soon became more engrossing than their game, and they began to speak of long-lost loves, high school experiences, and anything else that came up. Gary started watching the DVD collection of _Firefly, _lying on his beanbag with Alex and a blanket wrapped around him. Everyone was similarly lounging, and alternating between watching Science Fiction violence and actually carrying on conversations.

"Alastair, after this episode, put in Moulin Rouge. I know you brought it." Kira smiled.

"Don't put in Moulin Rouge." Alex said suddenly. Kira's smile faded and she demanded to know why.

"Because... I don't think... I don't think anyone else is in the mood for something that gooey and romantic." Stray shrugged.

Roach fell victim to a sudden coughing fit, though the word "bullshit" was clear and audible. Alex slapped the back of his lover's head and Gary muttered something under his breath while he rubbed at the spot where his lover had hit him.

"I'm sure we could find something more suitable." John agreed. Ghost nodded stiffly next to him.

"Oh, fuck no. Alastair, put it in now." Kira grinned.

The movie was put in the laptop and it started to play. Everyone continued to drink and talk, and the tragic love story continued to unfold. Kira sang along with a few of the songs, and frequently the others would hum along with them.

"I didn't know you boys liked musicals." Kira smirked.

She was met with a lively chorus and dance consisting mostly of "fuck you" and the middle finger.

"You guys make it sound like there's something wrong with appreciating a beautiful love story with a depressing ending." She continued to smirk.

There were more grumbles that were chased away by various alcohols and popcorn and whatever else they could get their hands on.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, though the thunder couldn't be heard over the sound of Lady Marmalade playing inside, and the thick blankets draped over he windows prevented the lightning from being seen within. They had their little safe-haven and the goings on outside were forgotten.

"Come What May" started playing and Alex sniffled a little.

"If you start crying now, we're both fucked when the ending comes." Gary hissed. Alex nodded and took another shot. Kira knew exactly what she was doing. She knew for a fact that at least her brother got misty-eyed when Satine died... And besides, Ewan McGreagor was _hot_.

The story continued to progress through Zidler's insistence that Satine stop seeing Christian at once and Archer found himself suffering an unexpected allergy attack that left his eyes red and watery.

The movie carried on and it finally opened on the scene of Christian's brilliant play. Kira's eyes were locked on the screen and she moved her mouth to match the song. Alex closed his eyes and tried to look at anything but the wall where the heart-wrenching scene of Satine's final moments flickered.

"Tell our story, Christian. That way I'll-I'll always be with you." Satine whispered.

There were coughs and sneezes and sniffles abundant. The only one who wasn't bothered by the concept of being seen crying was Kira. She chewed on one corner of the blanket and sobbed as Satine whispered her love for Christian and as the two started to sing again.

Roach was looking straight up at the ceiling, hoping that if he could keep the tears from falling, no one would notice. Stray's eyes were still shut. Archer sat hunched over with the blanket wrapped around the lower half of his face, muttering something about trying to avoid breathing in whatever was making him all red-eyed. Royce was similarly bundled up and leaning against Eric's shoulder. Soap was quietly biting his tongue and silently cursing his sister. Ghost had pulled his sunglasses down and was chewing on one of his knuckles. Alastair was crying silently next to his girlfriend.

When the movie ended, every one hurried to discreetly clean themselves up.

"All of you were crying!" Kira grinned triumphantly.

"Captain, permission to murder your sister?" Roach asked through clenched teeth.

"Request denied, Sergeant." Soap sighed.

"Captain, permission to resume the thread of a previous conversation involving dress codes and preferences?" Simon asked cheekily.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant." The two of them stood up and walked to the door, putting shoes back on, grabbing jackets, and flinging the door open, letting the screaming storm outside seep into the room. There was a slam and the door was again closed, only now there were two fewer people in the room.

"Fuckers!" Kira yelled at the closed door.

Another movie was started and, from the sounds of things, it was another one of Kira's favorite low-budget horror films. Gary took a sip from his beer bottle and glanced up at the screen. He nearly choked. There were kids at a school dance vomiting blood all over the place. He closed his eyes and took another drink from the beer bottle.

"Oh my fucking God this shit is gross. Why can't I stop watching it?" Archer asked, watching the movie with a strange blend of disgust and fascination.

"I have no idea. Jesus Fucking Christ, Kira. Where in the hell do you find these movies?" Stray demanded.

"Um... Internet?" (1)

"What fucking websites are you visiting?" Roach asked with a cringe.

"My favorite ones."

There came a particularly gruesome scene in which one party-goer beat another one's head in with a fire extinguisher. Gary cringed and buried his face in Alex's neck. The sniper wrapped his arms around the American's shoulders in a comforting manner. Gary mumbled something about hating movies like this, and Alex shuddered at the fluttering of lips across his neck.

"Dude, what the fuck? Why would that stripper use that other stripper's lipstick when it's got all that goop all over it? What the hell? Dude, this shit is exactly why humanity is going to die by virus." Royce cringed.

"Shh! You're ruining my movie!" Kira hissed.

"Ugh. Fucking gross. Come on Archer. I can think of better ways to spend the next half hour than watching this shit." Royce cringed. Eric grinned and allowed himself to be pulled back out into the storm. They forgot their jackets but they didn't seem to concerned about that.

"Hey, let's go. I've always wanted to fuck you in the rain." Alex whispered huskily. Gary shuddered and rose, following him quickly out of the room and back into the rain.

"Well, now that everyone else is gone..." Alastair grinned.

The fire was burning brightly and Gary sat dangerously close to it. The rain had stopped in the early afternoon and it had turned out to be a very beautiful day once the clouds were gone. The bonfire had been recreated on the beach and there was, as expected, more drinking being done. Gary seemed to have developed a slight cold, one that Kira blamed on fucking Alex in the rain and then passing out inside instead of changing. He told her to fuck herself, and then hid behind Ghost so the Captain couldn't get to him.

Rather than having to coax a conversation out of everyone as was the case with previous nights, the Task Force seemed generally relaxed and at ease. Kira was very pleased to note that there was no tension in her brother's face and he wasn't scanning the beach for threats that may or may not actually exist. Everyone was lying around the fire, drinking and talking and grinning like fools.

"You seem pleased with yourself about something." Alastair murmured.

"My work here is done. Look at them. They aren't worried about running from psychos with guns or blowing up a building or bleeding to death on the sand... John and Simon are making sandcastles. Gary and Alex are debating Cheetos versus Funions. Eric and Brandon are throwing things at each other, _without_ murderous intent..."

"I think Shepherd's going to have a fit when we get back and we _aren't_ twitching and itching to shoot something." Soap murmured, inadvertently mirroring his sister's thoughts.

"I think he'll be more concerned when he realizes we followed his orders." Ghost chuckled.

"Ew! Gross! Eric! What the hell is this shit?" Royce demanded as he pulled very soggy seaweed from his hair. Archer seemed more than content to continue throwing the muck at his teammate.

"Tell me why we didn't think of this sooner?" Alex asked several minutes after Eric and Brandon had called an uneasy truce and settled in near the fire.

"Because before now we didn't have a place where we didn't have to be paranoid?" Gary offered. They were stretched out on a familiar large blanket, staring up at the sky and watching the few sparse clouds pass over the stars.

"Yeah... That could be it." The sniper laughed.

"Maybe the problem isn't that we're too paranoid about our surroundings. Maybe it's just that we're too paranoid about being seen as someone other than who we're so used to being out in the field that's stopped us from ever being like this." Royce murmured.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of a deep silence, overridden only by the crackling of the fire before Archer said, "Sweet fucking Lord. That was philosophical, poetical, and it made sense. But most shocking of all, it came from Brandon."

"Man, fuck you." Royce muttered.

There was a scattering of laughter, but it seemed everyone agreed with him too much to get any measurable deal of enjoyment from Archer's statement.

There wasn't much to be said after Brandon's startling epiphany, a few short-lived conversations, but it seemed that Stray had proved himself right as well; They had been drinking and screwing to the point of near exhaustion, and were now in the process of recovery before they'd repeat the constant drinking and screwing again.

"Hey." Gary murmured.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for suggesting we stalk the Captain and Ghost down here."

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Like I'd leave you run around on your own on a private island without me."

"Never thought that'd be the case for an instant."

"I know what we should do tomorrow." Roach smiled.

"Whassat?"

"Sleep in late, eat something microwavable and easy to prepare, possibly fuck before and after, do a few shots, fuck again, drink some more, take a nap, have wake-up sex..."

"So we should spend the next day alternating between sleeping and fucking."

"Yep. You planning on complaining?"

"Absolutely not." Alex kissed him softly, pulled him closer and looked back up at the stars...

* * *

**(1):** I will give you a fresh-baked internet cookie if you name the origin of this phrase. :D


	24. Drinking Games Day Four

**PLEASE READ:** For the sake of my sanity and being able to actually keep up with all this crap, some time has passed within the story between the last chapter and this one. I'd say about three or four weeks weeks. I figured this little prompt could use more drug-use and violent sex so that's pretty much what this chapter is on about, haha. What? Oh. My lawyer is telling me that I should tell you guys that drugs are bad. So is drinking if you're underage. He's also telling me to include a disclaimer... Fucking asshole... Takes the fun out of everything... _**ALSO! THERE IS AN AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END THAT I'D LIKE EVERYONE TO READ.**_ Kinda important, kiddies.

_**DISCLAIMER:**_ I own Alastair Scott Craft, Kira Jane MacTavish, and Alexander Rhys Kennedy AKA "Stray". All other characters belong to Infinity Ward. Halo belongs to Bungie. Grape Crush is owned by the Dr. Pepper/7UP company. Cheetos belong to Frito-Lays, though I think Royce is their biggest stock-holder at the moment...

**duvalia:** Haha. I completely understanding your mind working in creepy ways that you don't want it to go in. XD Evil for not having seen Moulin Rouge? No. Not really. It's just an awesome movie. And having the guys watch something like a war movie would just be so typical for them. I wanted Kira to go evil and do as much as she could to make them uncomfortable. Because she's a bitch like that. XD Here's a cookie for getting The Fairly Odd Parents. :D

**iTestedGarrussReach:** Lol. Thank you dear. I call it "black hole writing". You know, where you just look in over the edge to catch a glimpse of what it's like and the next thing you know you're just falling endlessly? ...Yeah. That was weird... I have no idea where that came from. XD

**Arhani Daforcena:** YES! You get the cookie. Haha. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter.

**Aphelion:** Haha. Yes. Fairly Odd Parents. :)

**Mangoesaregood8:** I think everyone cries during Satine's death... It's just too hard not to. T^T. Yes. You get a cookie. :D

**GranBoy:** Haha. Awh. Thank you. I try really hard to keep the characterizations believable and close to how they were portrayed in the game. Unless of course my entire purpose is to toss out the old characterizations and make you question what you think you know about them. (Like the crying during Moulin Rouge. XD) Kira and Stray seem to have quite the following, though I'm working on creating an abomination of an OC, just to prove I can write someone worthy of hating. XD And don't worry about rambling. I prefer longer reviews because then I don't feel like I'm just saying "Glad you liked it" over and over again. XD

**FuriousPanda:** Haha. Yes. Timmy did it in Fairly Odd Parents. I actually use that excuse all the time. XD

**Commander Aldebaran:** You write perfectly amazing work, so shush with it! Haha. I'm glad the chapter made you so happy.

**xStealthxSniperx:** I like to think of them as generally immune to feelings like shame or embarrassment (barring Roach, of course), so it seemed only natural that they would crawl back to their partners and whine about how nothing was the same. Cabin Fever 2 made me laugh as well. It was just so hilarious in a really grotesque and disgusting manner. I think the war games have gotten to me, too. lol I've seen one or two of the drinking games played out, and they're all completely hilarious until someone almost passes out into the fire pit. Then you have to be concerned. XD

**PhonyPrincess:** "Ickle Gawwie..." was just something I could picture Ghost saying just to be a prick because that's just his personality. XD I've tossed around the idea of Archer/Stray, but haven't quite worked out how I'd do it, or if it's really something I want to/can do... Iono... We'll see where it leads... ALSO! I'M INDESTRUCTIBLE! Haha.

**Destiny xD:** ...I'm feeling particularly generous, so yes. Here's a cookie. Haha. I love writing Stray. He's so nonchalant about everything, like it doesn't bother him, no matter what it is. Kira's attitude is a lot of mine. I've got round about five brothers (including the foster brothers), and Kira's attitude towards the 141 is a lot of how I was towards my brothers. XD I don't mind all the blood and guts. I thrive on horror movies.

**ameij:** ... Hmm... I think I figured out how to work in that dress-code conversation into the next chapter... Just need to move a few scenes around... And I thought the guys could use a little OOC. :)

**TheBleeding:** Haha. Thanks, love. I'm glad to see you're enjoying it so much, even if it's a medium you don't normally like. :) Stray seems to be gathering his own little fan club... Maybe one of these days I'll dedicate an entire chapter to his backstory...

* * *

Stray had a bad habit of singing while he was in the shower. He wasn't necessarily bad or off-key or pitchy, he was just rather loud about it. Gary stretched and smiled, not bothering to open his eyes. He had such a devious little idea...

"Not even Earth can hold us. Not even life controls us. Not even the ground can keep us down..." Alex let the song lyrics trail off as he entered the kitchen. He was planning on taking a shower, getting something to drink and then teasing Roach awake, but it looked like he'd been beaten to the punch. Gary was lying languidly on the island in the kitchen with a devious little smile in his hazel eyes, seeing as how he had a mouthful of lime. There was a very full shot glass of tequila next to his head, and a thin line of salt stretching from the waist of his jeans to just below the hollow of his throat.

"Isn't it a little early for body shots?" Alex asked, his eyes following Gary's hands as he pulled the lime wedge from between his teeth, and then his lover's tongue as it flicked over the bitter inside of the fruit.

"If you're going to complain, I could always just clean myself up and go next door to surprise the Lieutenant. Or maybe the Captain." Gary shrugged.

Alex dropped the towel that he'd been using to dry his mess of wet curls, took the lime from the American's hand, and stuffed it back in his mouth.

"Never said I was complainin'." Stray purred. He dropped his head and slowly licked up the trail of salt his lover had laid down and followed the act by downing the contents of the shot glass before his lips covered Gary's and he bit and licked at the tart lime held there. Alex stood and pulled the green fruit from between his own teeth and grinned down at the cheeky Sergeant. He made up his mind that they were going to fuck right there, no questions asked, and no turning back.

"Boys? You in here?" Kira asked as she cautiously opened the door a crack. Simon and John hadn't answered when she called the beach house phone, which was unusual, considering neither of them could tolerate the loud, piercing sound of the ringing. She heard nothing and cautiously tiptoed to the back of the beach house, listening for any signs of movement. She pressed her ear to the cool wood of the bedroom door and heard nothing inside. She gently pushed the door open and peered inside. Kira pressed her hand to her mouth and tried suppressing a girlish giggle. Ghost was curled up tightly with his head resting on Soap's chest and his hands curled into fists around the fabric of his lover's shirt. John had his left arm wrapped around the Lieutenant and his right hand was tangled gently in the Brit's hair. The two of them were so deeply asleep, Kira wasn't surprised her calls had gone unanswered. She scratched out a note and stuck it on the side table near her brother and contemplated taking a picture for blackmail purposes.

Royce mewled softly and tugged harder at his bindings. Archer was moving so slowly to discard his clothing, leaving teasing and testing bites and kisses down his lover's skin. He could taste the sweat and the arousal and the pure _need_. Brandon arched into the heated touches and begged openly and shamelessly to just be given what he so desperately wanted. Eric refused to answer his needy moans and continued teasing and torturing his lover. Things were so much more beautiful when he was in control and took his time.

"What does it say?" Simon asked, his eyes still closed. He'd been playing various games with the Captain until the early hours of the morning. He smiled faintly as he remembered his lover's frustration at getting beaten again and again at Tekken.

"It just says 'WEED' in capital letters, a plus sign, the word 'HALO' in capital letters, an equals sign, and a happy face. I guess we're playing Halo high." John shrugged.

"Not now though, right?"

"What would you _rather_ do?"

"Sleep for a few more hours, fuck, sleep a little more, and then see if they're still playing after all that." Ghost yawned.

"We came here under the pretense of spending time with Kira." Soap reminded him.

"We've spent the past few weeks with Kira. She can miss us for a day."

"I will _demolish_ you in this game." Royce grinned.

They were 'pregaming', as it were, and there were already a few distinct cases of the munchies and multiple empty chip bags strewn around the room. Alastair's over-priced projector was once again hooked up, only this time to an Xbox. Alastair, apparently too impatient to wait for his Xbox to be sent to him, had someone go into town and buy a new one with nine extra controllers. "Just in case", he said.

"Let's just start already." Stray whined.

"What about John and Simon?" Alastair asked.

"He's got a point. We can't play 'til they show up. Otherwise, the team bracket system won't work." She pointed out. There was a general groan of disagreement, but it soon faded as the door opened and the missing men seemed to race into the room. John slipped and caught himself against the door frame as Simon shoved by him. He threw his arms in the air and shouted something about being the true victor and John flicked him off.

It was another half hour before anyone started the game. They had to make sure everyone was appropriately baked before they could begin. The first round consisted of Kira and Alastair against Roach and Stray. The map and weapons were chosen at random and the game began.

Rather predictably, Alex grabbed the nearest sniper rifle, ran towards the highest point of the level, aimed his scope towards the "enemy base" and waited. Gary picked up an SMG and a Battle Rifle and started sneaking towards the area he knew the spawn points to be. Kira picked up a shotgun and grabbed as many grenades as she could. Alastair picked up a needler and trailed after his girlfriend as she ran out into the field.

Kira turned a corner sharply and was met with a spray of bullets. Gary turned and ran back down towards his own base as he reloaded, drawing Alastair out into the open. There was a loud _BANG_ and Alastair dropped.

"BOOM! HEADSHOT!" Stray yelled triumphantly.

The game continued and they were soon informed by their faithful announcer that there were ten minutes remaining in the game. Gary yelled instructions to his teammate through a mouthful of Oreo cookies and Alex hollered a retort around the rim of a Grape Crush-filled red Solo cup that was gripped between his teeth.

Alastair was running across the field aimlessly, entertaining himself with the way the sunlight reflected off of various surfaces, making him an easy kill for Stray, who, even in his "inhibited state" had uncanny accuracy.

With eight minutes and a few seconds remaining on the clock, the game ended. Stray and Roach had earned all 50 of the necessary kills, while Kira and Alastair managed 30, even with the estate agent's wandering around, looking at the shiny.

The next match-up was Royce and Archer against Soap and Ghost. The selections were again random for map, weapons and vehicles.

Ghost immediately made his way to a Banshee and took to the skies, raining plasma-hell down on Royce, who was trying to storm the enemy base alone. Very similar to his fellow sniper, Archer lifted a beam rifle and waited at a high-point, waiting for someone to streak through his sights. With a dark laugh, Simon unleashed a brilliant green bomb that made Eric's screen glow for a moment before he growled and decided that waiting around was "just pointless in this game".

"Will you get your hand out of the Cheeto bag and back on the damn controller! Find MacTavish and shoot him! He's the one we can't seem to find that's doing all the damage!" Archer yelled.

"Stop harshing my mellow, you jackass!" Royce snapped.

The game was paused by the Captain as the two enlisted men proceeded to throw things at one another, not caring that they were tossing their food-stuffs around the room.

"NO! MY CUPCAKES!" Kira wailed. She ran after them and picked them up quickly, throwing a death glare at Eric and Brandon. She sat down next to Alastair again and opened a package and began eating them quickly before they could be taken from her for a second time.

"Motherfucker!" Royce yelped. He'd received a fist to the chest and responded in kind.

Simon unpaused the game and took advantage of the two men fighting.

"GAME OVER!" The announcer boomed.

Brandon and Eric froze in the middle of their fight rather comically and stared at the screen for a moment before exclaiming, "Huh?" They separated and scrabbled for their controllers.

"Cheater!" Brandon yelled just as Eric screamed, "Sneaky fuck!"

"I think everyone should take another hit and then we should move on." Roach suggested.

Half an hour later, everyone was generally more calm and it was on to the final team bracket; Stray and Roach against Soap and Ghost. Everything was again randomly selected and the match countdown began.

"TEAM SLAYER!"

The match began and the pairs began moving quickly across the map, weapons in hand. It wasn't quite so much a match as it was a series of gunshots and lazy curses. The timer continued to tick off the seconds and the minutes. It was impossible to tell who was going to be the victor, seeing as how they all worked together closely enough and often enough to know exactly how the competition would react and plot and plan.

The timer hit zero and it was announced that the game was over and Soap and Ghost had won by a single kill for their team. There were grumbles and complaints and everyone spread out around the room, eating their snacks and drinking whatever soda was close. They smoked more weed and ate more junk food and didn't do much more than that.

"Dude... You ever wonder... Like... If all these other planets in Halo are all teched-out an shit, what's Halo's Earth like?" Archer asked.

"Probably fucking ridiculous. All flying cars and shite." Stray mused. He grabbed another handful of Doritos.

"Flying cars are bullshit. There are a billion different reasons flying cars would _never_ work." Roach mumbled.

"Name a million of them." Kira retorted.

"I don't have to answer to you!" Roach yelled.

Alastair screamed something about a spider and crawled into a corner. Everyone stared at him as he gently collected a daddy long-legs in his hands and hurried back over to the group. Ghost tried to discreetly move as far from Alastair as possible. Soap knew what was going on and blocked his escape.

"Motherfucking Scottish prick." Ghost mumbled. The Brit shrank as far away from the crazed civilian as he could and tried to avoid making eye-contact with the hell-spawn in his hands.

Roach leaned close to the spider and blew a lungful of smoke on the spider and laughed as it began to freak out a bit before curling up in the palm of Alastair's hand.

"Is he high or dead?" Archer asked.

"He looks chill as fuck, man." Royce laughed.

"The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout." Kira giggled. She took the spider from Alastair's hands and pet the arachnid with a gleeful expression.

"Do-do-do da-dodado..." Stray hummed.

"Is that the Mario theme song?" Roach asked. The Irish sniper grinned and nodded with a giggle. Gary stared at him dumbly for a moment before pouncing on his lover and kissing him quickly.

"Dude!" Kira yelled. Apparently Sanderson's enthusiastic attack had launched the spider from her hands, causing Ghost to promptly run from the beach house. There was a moment of stunned silence before everyone began laughing at Ghost's paranoia until they suddenly realized they couldn't find the spider.

"Do you think he snapped out of it and ran off?" Royce asked.

"I dunno man, that was enough smoke to kill a spider." Roach shrugged.

"John! Don't move. Just sit real still." Kira whispered. She crept towards her twin and gently scooped the spider off his shoulder.

"Woah. If Ghost hadn't booked it, that thing woulda been in his face." Stray murmured.

"Good thing he's so fast then." Soap laughed.

The door opened and Simon stuck his head back inside.

"Did you find the bloody abomination?" He asked.

"Yeah, we found it. Still looks stoned as shit, too." Brandon grinned.

Simon inched into the room and sat as far away from the spider as possible.

"Hey Kira, didn't you buy salt and vinegar chips the other day?" Gary asked as he wandered towards the kitchen.

"Yeah. In the cupboard by the microwave." Kira said.

Sanderson soon wandered back into the room, munching on chips. He flopped gracelessly next to Stray and watched Kira pet her spider.

More than any previous day, it seemed this one was the laziest by far. Even once they had all sobered up (and Kira had thrown the spider outside) everyone seemed to be content to relax and talk and generally do as little as possible.

"I still think the most confusing book I ever read was _Dreamcatcher_. I'm not going to lie. I read that book twice and I still couldn't work out if the entire alien invasion was a hallucination or what the fuck was going on with it." Stray griped.

"Hm. See, the one Stephen King book that always pissed me off was The Langoliers. That British guy helps them out of that damn tangential reality, and then they just let him die. _I_ think they should have slapped the drunk awake and had _him_ push the button." Kira huffed.

There was a conversation composed almost entirely of sharply hissed whispers that eventually grew into a conversation of normal-level, and then to slightly raised voices coming from Simon and John off to one side.

"Any particular reason you boys are arguing?" Kira drawled lazily.

The two of them glanced at Kira before returning their attention to each other. They rose simultaneously and walked out of the beach house, their strides matching as they took off.

"Twenty bucks on a fist fight." Archer called. He wedged a cigarette between his lips and pulled a twenty from his back pocket.

"Twenty on violent sex." Roach pulled his own money out.

"I'll see your twenty on violent sex, raise you another twenty and call forty on a fight before violent sex." Kira stuck her hand in Alastair's pocket and pulled out the money as she spoke. The estate agent sputtered indignantly as she placed the bet using his money,

"I'll see that forty and call it a _violent fight_ before _and during_ sex." Stray quipped.

John felt his teeth rattle as the fist connected with his jaw. He shoved Simon away and kissed him violently. A calloused hand clawed at his hair and he grunted as ragged, bitten nails scratched across his scalp and down the back of his neck. He bit Riley's lower lip and tasted blood. He licked at the raw and bleeding wounds and he reveled at the taste; thick, heavy, metallic, coppery, oddly delicious and erotic. He bucked his hips forward and his straining erection collided with Simon's. Ghost yelped and held closer to the Captain.

They tore at clothes, both their own and their partner's. More than one article fell victim to the horrific cracking-tearing sound of stitching reaching their limits, but the protest was ignored and more clothes were removed a bit too quickly than they were made to and it wasn't long before they were both tangled on the bed, still struggling against each other, the occasional punch or bite still making its way into the mix. John licked the side of Simon's neck and forced a finger inside his partner. Not of his own volition, Simon bucked against the intruding digit with a groan.

"Enjoying yourself?" Soap smirked.

"Fuck you." Ghost rasped.

"I'm _going_ to fuck you." MacTavish purred. Simon scowled and bit John's chest, clamping down until a a quick blow to his face caused him to release the skin pinched between his teeth.

A second finger was forced into Riley, who again bucked and groaned. MacTavish kissed him again and began slowly loosening his partner through a series of gentle in and out and scissoring motions.

"Keep treating me like I'm going to break and I swear I'll tie you down in your sleep and rape you awake." Simon growled.

John, enjoying the promise of a challenge continued to move slowly, only half-ignoring the threats his Lieutenant was making. It wasn't long before he just got tired of waiting and playing these games and withdrew his hand.

"It's about bloody time." Simon panted. John just shook his head. Of course he would continue playing at not enjoying it. That was just his personality, the obnoxious git... Ghost screamed and ground back against Soap's hips as he was penetrated. He kissed the side of his lover's neck and ordered him to move. For once, MacTavish obeyed without a sly comment or quirky remark. Simon moaned loudly and arched eagerly to meet thrusts that were almost violent. John kissed him again and he could feel Riley's teeth crack against his own as they both tried to brutally and violently to take complete control of the situation. The kiss was nothing short of sloppy and angry, but that was the way they liked it.

Simon's hands wandered aimlessly over John's skin, skipping over scars and bruises and the odd hidden tattoo. His hands eventually wound into Soap's obnoxiously short hair, where they remained for several long minutes as he concentrated on trying to fight off his orgasm. He wanted to see how long he could hold out against his lover's onslaught. Unfortunately, John was very good at knowing what Simon wanted and when, where, how to give it to him to make him crazy with lust and need; which was a good thing for Soap. He loved watching Ghost hit that breaking point, loved knowing that he was the one driving the Brit to the brink, knowing that he was the one who could tear down his every defense. He got off on it.

He could feel Simon trying to keep it all together and he knew that it wouldn't take much to unravel him at this point. He sucked at the pulse-point below Simon's jaw and he growled that he expected to hear his name screamed sometime soon and he snapped his hips forward one more time, using all the accuracy he possessed to hit that sweet-spot Riley adored so much. That was all it took.

"Oh, John!" Simon yelled. His entire body tensed and arched and his eyes slid closed in ecstasy. John took in the sight of his second in command, his closest friend, his lover, writhing in inexplicable pleasure, screaming his name, and it was his undoing. He moaned Simon's name as his body shook with the force of his orgasm. It was something that would never lose its magic, a rush that would never lose its thrill. Sex with Riley was thrilling and new every time; it was a constant when nothing else was.

John lay next to Simon, waiting for his breath to even back out and he wasn't at all surprised to feel the familiar weight of Riley's head on his chest or the feeling of an arm being draped over his waist. People could speak poorly of Simon's interaction skills as much as they wanted, but he was quite prone to needing closeness, especially after sex. It was just one of his many quirks.

Rather than give the air conditioning a chance to dry their sweat-slicked bodies and give them a chill, Soap drug the blanket around them and held Ghost close. Between the comfortable warmth and the steady thudding of his lover's heart, it didn't take much for Simon to fall asleep.

"So who do you think won?" Alastair asked with a yawn.

"Honestly? Stray." Kira murmured. She grabbed the television remote and changed the channel.

"Hm." Alastair hummed.

"Which is exactly why I think we shouldn't go about disturbing them tomorrow. I have a feeling Simon's gonna want revenge." She said with a very matter-of-fact tone. Alastair just chuckled.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay. After re-reading this scene, I decided that one of my favorite lines was "Rape you awake". Unfortunately, the next chapter is the final installment of the Drinking Games Prompt because there's another prompt I'm itching to start on so I can take these boys in new directions. ;D HERE'S WHERE YOU COME IN! In your review, let me know if you'd like for me to write the "Deleted Scene" that shows how Simon gets his revenge. It's probably just gonna be something fairly short, but I'm trying to decide if I should post it here as a "Deleted Scene" from "Drinking Games" or just post it on XDCU as its own stand-alone story. YOU HAVE THE POWER OF CHOICE! :heart:


	25. Drinking Games: Back To Reality

**A/N:** Whatever it is you're expecting from this chapter, stop expecting it, because that's not what you're going to get. This one is shiny and pretty and bright and colorful. Coarseness and rudeness kept to a severe minimum here, because that's how I roll. Author's note at the end, just a matter of opinion. _**GHOST'S REVENGE WILL BE THE NEXT CHAPTER. FOLLOWING THAT WILL BE ONE ADDITIONAL DELETED SCENE COMPOSED OF LITTLE DRABBLE-LIKE CONCEPTS I COULDN'T WORK INTO THE STORY.**_ Hope you guys are ready for idiocy. :D

**Anon:** I'm glad I could help you out. :D And it looks like the next chapter is going to be the "Ghost's Revenge" deleted scene. ;D

**xGhostxStealth:** Eh. You're not a bad person. People get forgetful. Like me. If I don't forget and/or lose something at least once a day, it's a damned miracle. XD With all of my brothers being in the military, we've played Halo and Modern Warfare together a lot. It doesn't help them that much. Unless you're talking about the games where you actually have the gun controller, like the House Of The Dead or Time Crisis arcade games. One of my brothers in the Marines kicked my ass at Time Crisis 3. Without trying. And his response to my anger was just, "Every man a rifleman. Now put another fucking dollar in the machine." And it looks like "Ghosts Revenge" is going to be posted here, but I'm cooking up something special for XDCU. ;)

**FuriousPanda: **Hey, Zoidberg has his merits... XD Deleted scene coming up next. :D

**TheBleeding:** By "this kind of story" do you mean slash or just MW2 fanfiction in general? Either way, I'm glad you enjoy what I write. And yes, those lyrics were from "This Is Not The End". The Bravery is one of my favorite bands and that song was stuck in my head. XD As soon as I can figure out how I want to go about it, I'm going to cover Stray's back story. :P

**Jane Kid McAnders:** I love Soap with Soap's voice. XD I've just got this thing for accents in general. And foreign languages. I'm just really strange. XD And I'm beginning to notice a lot of "Stray Fans" popping up... I didn't realize he'd be so wildly popular. o_o

**xStealthxSniperx:** I love Cabin Fever. Both of them. I'm a HUGE fan of horror movies. I always have been. I think it started when I was a kid and I saw Tim Burton's "Sleepy Hollow" with Johnny Depp and that was when I really started liking the whole creepy feel of horror films and the blood and the gore. Maybe I'm just twisted. XD Yes. The fire was going. It was actually kinda funny. No one was seriously injured at that party, but we did have one kid get really, really wasted that I had to nurse back to being able to remember his own name. Forever the designated sober person... Haha. Deleted scene it shall be! And, just a curious question, if Soap/Ghost isn't your favorite, who is? (I'm a very curious person :P) And don't worry about getting off topic. I'm REALLY ADHD so it doesn't bother me because I do it all the time. XD

**Arhani Daforcena:** You're welcome, love. :D

**Reeserella:** Thank you dear. :D Simon is definitely getting his revenge. It's just plain cruel to put him through that and leave him with no way to get even! Haha.

**GranBoy:** It's only sad for you to spazz out over a new chapter if it's also sad for me to spazz out when I get a review. XD You've nothing to apologize for, as far as I'm concerned. :P Simon's revenge is going to be _very_ interesting. Believe it or not, I actually drew a touch of inspiration from a dream I had a few nights ago. XD I'm not all that worried about sophistication, and it just seemed so like Ghost to take a serious moment like that and accidentally fuck it up by talking so much. XD

**Ameij:** For you dear, Revenge of The Ghost is next. :D

**CamoGirl69: **Deleted Scene coming up next. Thanks for all the love.

* * *

"It's just a shame we can't hang out more often." Kira frowned.

Two months had flown by like it was nothing, passed mostly in a haze of marijuana smoke, a watery lens of alcohol, and a whirlwind of sexual ecstasy. Kira hugged her twin brother tightly, trying to avoid crying into his shoulder. She wished he'd been given more time off, considering the past few years of his life had passed in a haze of shell-shock, a watery lens of blood loss, and a whirlwind of explosions. Soap hugged his sister just as tightly as she held him and he almost wished that he had chosen a less demanding line of work.

"Come on, John." Simon sighed. Their flight had been called. It was time for them to board and get the hell out of there.

MacTavish kissed his sister's forehead one last time and told Alastair that if he _ever_ did _anything_ to hurt his sister, he would magically vanish, but only after a minimum of 48 continuous hours of pain and torture. Riley back the statement up with a glacial glare and a devious grin of his own. Alastair tried laughing it off, but he'd seen how these guys joked around and how _that_ tended to lead to cracked ribs and bruises, and they weren't phased by it. Alastair had personally broken a single finger and that had nearly killed him. He didn't even want to imagine what it felt like to be shot six times and dash across rooftops, dodging explosives and enemy gun fire.

John turned away from his sister, shouldered his bag, and started walking towards his boarding gate. Simon patted his shoulder and told him that he didn't need to worry about Kira, that she was more than capable of taking care of herself and keeping Alastair's scrawny ass in check. John just nodded. He was so involved in his conversation with Simon that he didn't hear Kira calling him until she screamed, "Goddammit! Soap!"

He stopped and turned and the girl ran towards him, her right hand outstretched. There was a thin silvery cord wrapped around her fingers and John recognized it immediately. His hand flew up to his neck and he realized they were his dog tags. Kira pressed them into his hand and said, "Don't ever make me call you by that damnable call-sign again, you hear me?" He nodded and hugged her again.

"Stay safe out there, and keep your head down. That goes for every damn one of you bastards, got it?" She growled. Everyone nodded. They weren't entirely sure crossing her would be safer than crossing her brother.

"Good. Have fun saving the world and blowing shit up." Kira grinned before skipping back to Alastair.

"Your call-sign is Soap?" Gary asked.

John just nodded.

"How'd you end up with _that_?" Stray asked.

"Long story." MacTavish muttered.

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." Simon piped up.

"Fucker." John muttered.

"Yeah, that makes sense." Alex shrugged.

They weren't edgy on the plane ride home; they weren't shooting death glares at each other or lacing their conversation with poisonous words and dark threats. Gary and Alex sat next to each other and very discretely held hands while they spoke quietly over things that didn't make sense to anyone else. Brandon and Eric were discussing the differences between movies based on video games and video games based on movies and which ones were worse. John and Simon were placing bets on if Alastair was really the one who would end up shoving Kira in a white dress and forcing her to settle down.

There was no one waiting for them when their plane landed, not that they were surprised. They had their cars parked in the long-term parking and were more than happy to finally be back to the familiarity of their own surroundings. It was a surprisingly beautiful day outside; it was the perfect temperature, the sky was a brilliant blue that was blemished only occasionally by puffy white clouds.

"Smells like sunshine." Royce sighed. He'd rolled the windows in his lover's car down and was smiling into the wind.

"High again?" Archer asked with a smile.

"Just enjoying the way things are." Brandon grinned. Eric decided to be completely out of character and steal a quick kiss from his comrade when they came to a stop at a cherry-red light. Royce smiled against his lips and they both decided life was good for the moment.

Roach watched Stray's lips move along with the lyrics to a song flowing softly from the radio, a faint smile on his lips.

"'M not botherin' you, am I?" Stray asked, finally catching his lingering gaze.

"Not at all. I like listening to you sing."

"Liar."

"Never." Gary took Alex's right hand off the wheel and laced their fingers. He didn't care that the gesture seemed girly or stupid; he felt like holding his lover's hand and by God he was going to do it. His smile grew a bit when he felt the foreigner squeeze his hand.

For once, Soap's mind wasn't on reports or missions or intel. He was contemplating what he wanted for dinner, struggling to decide if he wanted to exploit his hidden talent of actually being able to cook or just going to the Chinese restaurant he and Simon favored that was very conveniently located around the corner from their apartment. He glanced over to the passenger's seat where Ghost had finally succumbed to the sleep his insomnia so often led him away from. The light skipped over the Lieutenant's face and his longer-than-regulation hair. John smiled. Simon had been sleeping more since their leave had started. He didn't look quite so exhausted and his blue eyes weren't dulled by sleeplessness and they were no longer underlined by dark rings of purple. With the faint smile still lingering on his face, he looked back towards the road. The time away was time well-spent.

"Wanna catch a movie tonight?" Stray asked.

"Hell yes." Roach grinned.

"You know, I wouldn't be opposed to you staying at my place for a bit." Archer murmured a bit awkwardly.

"I don't think I'd mind the change of scenery either. My apartment kinda sucks." Royce laughed.

"Whether you can cook or not isn't up for debate now, is it? I feel like eating cheap Chinese food and that's final." Ghost insisted.

"Cheap Chinese food it is." Soap smiled.

It seemed the surreal happiness remaining after their time away seemed to stick with them even after they'd returned to the base and started back in on their work.

"Guess who took home a cute chick every weekend for two months." Meat leered.

"Guess who spent every night for the past two months having the most amazing sex known to man without having to worry about forgetting a girl's name or bother turning an unwanted, disease-riddled hooker out in the morning." Archer returned mildly. Meet's grin fell from his face with startling speed and he stormed away.

"What did you tell him?" Royce asked with a lazy gesture as he walked into the office. He had a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other and he seemed rather preoccupied.

"The truth."

"That you're madly in love with me?" Brandon teased, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

"With a few more words, sure." Eric smiled softly. Rather than stumble over his words, Royce instead chose the more dignified option of just blushing and going back to scribbling something in a notebook.

"Well if it isn't the little Cockroach!" Worm beamed. Roach knew that smile and knew that it meant bad news for him.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"What did the five fingers say to the face?" Worm asked innocently.

"Fuck you." Stray said casually as he slapped the would-be offender. He'd been passing through the halls on his way to find his lover and happened to save him from a particularly mean punchline. Worm held one side of his face and accused Stray of ruining his joke. Stray just shrugged it off and lit a cigarette.

"When'd you start smoking?" Ozone demanded.

"When'd you start caring?" Stray retorted.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Ozone muttered.

"I could ask you the same question, but I know the real problem is that _someone_ spent their entire leave in the bottom of a bottle of cheap booze with a distinct inability to get laid due to their lack of people skills. And by 'someone' I mean you." Alex continued.

"Man, fuck you!" Ozone yelled.

"That would be _my_ job." Roach said casually. Ozone and Worm regarded both of them with incredulity before sputtering some sort of nonsensical reason to get out of there.

"Well that was bold." Alex laughed as the other two departed.

"Would you rather me say nothing so you can come to my rescue again next time?" Gary asked innocently.

"Maybe. If only so I can play the hero." Alex stepped forward and kissed him gently. Sanderson wrapped his arms around his lover's neck.

"Now, I bought tickets for the showing at 1630, but if you'd rather continue this snogging session, I can always re-purchase the tickets for a later date." Stray murmured, waving a slip of paper about.

"Movies first, then snogging." Roach chuckled.

"So this is what being domestic feels like." Ghost sighed. Their Chinese take-away cartons sat on the table, surrounded by packets of empty soy and duck sauce, there was a movie playing on the TV, and they were rather completely entangled with one another on the couch. John lowered his face a touch and lightly kissed the side of his lover's neck. Riley made a pleased little noise and nestled closer against his Captain, feeling _very_ content with a silly movie flickering across the screen and the solidity of Soap pressed to his back.

"You ever wonder what we'd be like if we'd chosen a different line of work?" Simon asked. He reached for his beer sitting on the edge of the coffee table and brought the bottle to his lips.

"I'm pretty sure I'd be working construction for Kira. Maybe you'd still be working that desk job." John chuckled.

"Jealous of how I look in a suit?"

"Simon, I don't think I've ever seen you in a suit." John took the beer bottle from Ghost's hand and took a sip himself before passing it back so it could be set on the table once more.

"That could always change."

"Let's hope it does soon." Soap nuzzled the Brit's neck and Simon closed his eyes.

"You going back to sleep?"

"Some of us have problems sleeping, so we take every chance we can get." Ghost huffed.

"Then I think we should at least move you to the bedroom. You fall asleep out here, you're going to spend all day tomorrow whining about how much your back hurts."

Gary rested his head on Alex's chest and listened to the steady thudding of the European's heart. He buried his face in the soft, standard-issue green fabric of Stray's shirt and breathed deeply.

"You alright over there?" Stray asked with a laugh."

"You smell good." Roach huffed indignantly.

"I try my best."

"Who you trying to impress?"

"You." Stray shrugged.

"You don't have to impress me. You already got me."

"Don't mean nothin'. I gotta do everything I can to keep you now. And that means exploiting that delicate sense of smell you have."

"You're so sarcastic! What did I ever see in you?" Gary feigned incredulity and hurt.

"The fact that I love you?"

Sanderson didn't say anything for a long moment. He eventually raised his head and looked up at Sergeant Kennedy.

"D'you mean that?"

"Mean what? That I love ya? 'Course I do," Stray murmured as he kissed his lover's forehead before he said, "Now, close those hazel eyes of yours and get some sleep while we still got the chance."

"So why'd you never settle down before now?" Royce asked.

"Never saw the need to. Never had the desire to. Never found anyone who could understand why I can't bring myself to say I'm attached. 'Specially in my line of work." Archer mumbled.

"Makes sense to me."

"Don't make none to me. Just trying to figure out why I didn't give in and give you a chance sooner than this."

"'Cause every damn body in the 141 is a stubborn bastard. Practically prerequisite."

"Doesn't change nothin'."

"Don't be so hard on your self, man. It's no big deal."

"'Sept it is. I'm actin' like the same automaton my dad was, and I hated it. And since you already got me on one of these stupid little tangents, I think I've come to the conclusion that I'm just gonna stick to sleeping with you, and I don't think I want you sleepin' 'round no more either."

"Don't look now, Arch, but I think you just agreed to be in a committed relationship. And I think I just agreed." Royce smiled.

"Good."

The change in the team dynamic within the Task Force was subtle, but still noticeable. Those six members that had traveled away and spent time on a near-deserted island were calmer, they were more content to sit in silence and watch the clouds or watch a bird hop around outside. They spent more time off-base and out of the pubs. They were more human than they had ever seemed before.

"I think it's because we were actually able to do what we _wanted_ to do, not what we felt we _needed_ to do." Roach shrugged.

"Maybe it's because we were actually able to sit around, drink, smoke, and fuck and not worry about repercussions." Archer countered.

"Those are kind of the same thing, but it still doesn't matter one way or the other. Simple fact is life is good. Let's try to avoid fucking this sublime happiness by thinking too much." Stray said.

"Damn. I want pudding." Royce frowned.

There was a collective moment of silence before everyone started to laugh. Royce rolled his eyes, but continued reclining in the grass and staring up at the sky. He closed his eyes and let the sunshine play over his skin. It felt divine. He sighed and smiled when he felt Archer sit close to him. Royce was lazily sprawled on his back with Archer sitting close by, Roach and Stray were stretched out on their stomachs, prodding a beetle along across a random and arbitrary path. Soap and Ghost were sitting on a blanket cleaning hand guns and talking quietly about something of no consequence. It was just a beautiful day that Meat and Ozone and Worm and Chemo were wasting inside, griping about things that didn't matter at the moment and wouldn't matter in the future.

"Kinda weird how two months of free time can wake you up more than a few years of near death experiences." Stray smiled.

"Not really. Near death experiences leave just enough room for praying you live. Living the life leaves you with enough time to pray to understand it." Royce said.

There was another moment of stunned silence.

"How do you do that?" Roach demanded.

"Do what?" Royce asked.

"Just... You go from talking about pudding to coming out with this awesome philosophical stuff and it's just... How do you switch gears like that?" Roach asked.

"Practice, dude." Brandon smiled.

It seemed that this new calm after the leave time was something as unshakable. It was a strange new constant. It seemed there was nothing that could ruin them, could ruin their serenity.

John shrugged out of his jacket and threw it across the back of one of the chairs in the living room. It had been rather a long day, rather boring and infuriating, but not the worst he'd ever endured. It certainly didn't feel like it had already been a month and a half since their leave spent with Kira...

"Simon?" He called. He could have sworn the Lieutenant was at the apartment already, but there was no sign of him.

"Back here." Ghost called.

Soap wandered towards the back of the apartment, towards the bedroom and he paused in the doorway, a bit stunned at the sudden reminder of their island time that was sitting on the edge of the bed. Simon was all dressed up in a black suit with a dark red button-up shirt under the blazer and a red- and black-striped tie.

"Figured we could finish that conversation we started at your sister's." Riley winked.

Things had changed, and nothing would ever be the same. But there wasn't really anything wrong with that.


	26. DG: DELTED SCENE: Ghost's Revenge

**A/N:** You asked for it, so I wrote it. GHOST'S REVENGE DELETED SCENE. _**WARNING!**_ This one... Well... Ghost doesn't necessarily "rape" Soap awake, but good Lord does he decide to get revenge... Kinky, smutty... Reminiscent of my "Role Reversal" bit, but a little meaner. ;D Excessive use of the F-Bomb ahead... I couldn't resist. I know I've been updating _really_ fast lately, but these segments have been writing themselves, and since I do all of my writing in the "Edit/Preview Document" portal of FF so I can work on the one-shots from _any_ computer with internet access, they're just sitting here, staring at me, reminding me that they're finished. XD

**xGhostxStealth:** Thank you! I was trying to show how just a little bit of time to remember themselves as someone other than a soldier could impact _everything_. And before Red went off to boot camp, _I_ was the one who couldn't be beaten at Time Crisis. Then he comes back and it's all "Oh. Look who got 90% accuracy. WASN'T YOU, TRISH! IT WASN'T YOU!" XD And all of my brothers know I write. But only the younger one knows I write yaoi. The other (older) four are strays that we've taken in over the years that aren't really blood related. They'd stay with us for a few months at a time when their parents kicked them out or (in Sebastian's case) when their parents were away and they didn't feel like spending all their time in an empty house. So technically four of the five are "brothers", but why bother with quotations that don't mean nothin' anyway? Lol. But I can imagine at least one of them would be a little upset. Two wouldn't care. The fourth one might be a little "eh" about it, but you can never tell how Stephen's gonna react to anything. XD

**Reeserella:** Haha. Kira is definitely not the type to just settle down. She's too free-spirited, one of those people that's too young for commitment, no matter how old she is. XD

**PhonyPrincess:** Haha. I was kind of wondering where you'd been... lol. Soap...And Ghost... Getting married? For some reason I have a feeling they'd skip the ceremony and just go straight to the honeymoon phase. XD I have creepy random thoughts like that too. When I read that comment, for instance, my immediate reaction wasn't "What the hell is she thinking?" It was, instead, "Which one would wear the dress?" XD

**TheBleeding:** Ahhh. I don't even remember what the first slash story I read was... I just remember it made one hell of an impression. XD I'm just glad my stories don't creep you out, haha. I generally enjoy all kinds of music. The Bravery, Muse, Disturbed, The Fratellis, Shiny Toy Guns, Apocalyptica... Anything that sounds good, lol. And can I ask what you mean by "your grunts"? I think I have an idea, but I'm working on this thing where I stop drawing my own half-assed, quarter-baked conclusions. XD

**Mangoesaregood8:** Aha. Thank you darling. :)

**Arhani Daforcena:** The boys are _always_ on their way to another violence and testosterone-fueled adventure. Just a matter of _when_, haha.

**xStealthxSniperx:** Oh that party... The kid I kept from falling into the fire pit is younger than me, so he's still in high school and my baby brother is a freshman this year. Every time the two of them are together my friend tells my brother that he owes me his life for not letting him fall. See, I like Roach/ANYONE. Just because he deserves so much more love than what people give him. I'm ADD/ADHD with Obsessive Compulsive tendencies. (It's not really bad enough for me to be officially diagnosed with it), so I'm like, freaking insane. Of course I had a sit-down with a hard-core child psychiatrist when I was in grade school and she said the ADD/ADHD diagnoses were bullshit and the reason I couldn't focus had to do with my IQ level and the fact that I process things so quickly, I lose interest in them just as fast. It also makes me sound less unstable. XD Now to the last chapter: The intention wasn't so much as to make them moody as it was for them to give everyone the idea that harshing their new mellow is a very bad idea.

**Deviant-Jubilant:** I'm glad you liked the last chapter. :D I played _a lot_ of Death Cab For Cutie while writing/editing that one. Mostly because their music is always calming to me... Iono... And the suit segment there at the end? That was _definitely_ John's gain. Simon's revenge is significantly more difficult. ;)

**GranBoy:** Roach/Stray are so adorable, if I do say so myself. X3 I tried my damndest to show progression of the guys. The first chapter they were all pissed at each other and just looking to fuck and drink and be done with it. Later chapters they were trying to relax and have fun, and the final chapter was just supposed to be like, "Kay. We're chill as hell now. :)" Lol. How did I come up with Royce/Archer? Well... I was bouncing the idea around in the back of my head and I was talking to duvalia and I mentioned the concept and for some reason I just threw Archer/Royce out there because I figured they needed a constantly pissy character that they had to almost force into chilling out, and that person would of course need someone to screw around with. So I picked those two at random. Well, almost random. XD Alastair is _definitely_ not stoked that his girlfriend's twin is a paid psychopath. He's officially afraid of forgetting anything, because if Kira calls John and manages to get in touch with him and she seems upset, Alastair's life'll go pear-shaped in a second.

**iTestedGarrussReach:** Ahhh yes... Ghost in a suit and tie... There's actually a picture of Ghost partially in a suit (Soap's relieved him of most of it) on xdcu[dot]com/acod and I think the picture is on the second page and it's called "Why Rush?". It's also the background on my personal-use laptop. XD

* * *

Simon, as usual, was awake first. He just preferred letting John believe he was the first one awake. Made things like this easier if his lover didn't know the truth. Simon licked his lips and concentrated on very carefully, very quietly, extricating himself from the Scot's grip. Once away from the bed, Ghost silently pulled his pants back on and slipped from the beach house undetected. John had fucked up and hadn't even realized it. You don't fuck with a Ghost and expect to get out of it without being haunted... Simon laughed at his own silly thoughts and continued jogging towards Kira's room.

"What in the fuck is that?" Alastair groaned. Kira didn't question what the tapping noise was. She pulled a handgun from the bedside table, one her brother had given her as a Christmas present one year, and she jerked the window curtains open. She rolled her eyes when she saw Simon staring through the glass.

"Something I can help you with?" She asked as she jerked the window open.

"Did you get what I asked?" He asked impatiently.

"Think so." Kira tossed him a plastic bag and he perused the contents with a frown.

"You forgot something." He hissed.

"What... Fuck. Take this." Kira tossed him a zip-lock bag of ties Alastair kept in his suitcase for emergencies and the estate agent whined about his ties being handed over for unknown purposes.

"What does he need them for?" Alastair demanded.

"Don't fucking ask." Simon snapped. Every second he spent out of bed was another opportunity for John to move and encounter cold bed sheets instead of another warm body. He took the bags and disappeared away from the window. Kira re-latched the window, pulled the curtains closed again, put the gun back on the nightstand, and crawled back into bed with a yawn. She told Alastair he might as well get some sleep too.

"Wakey wakey." Simon cooed. John muttered something but remained asleep. Simon smiled to himself, shrugged, and straddled John's hips. He got a hint of a reaction from the Captain and he cocked his head to one side. Well, that didn't work... He kissed the side of Soap's neck and rocked his hips against those beneath him. That got a more definitive reaction, and it looked like John was opening his eyes a bit... Simon ground his teeth and brought the back of his hand sharply across his lover's face. Simon rolled his eyes. Of course _that_ would be what it took to wake him up.

"What in the hell is this?" John demanded. Now that he was awake, he realized he had been tied, spread-eagle, by Alastair's silk ties to the bedposts.

"I warned you." Simon purred.

"I thought the warning was that you would _rape me_ awake."

"If you think this is all I have planned for you, then I'm ashamed at you lack of creativity. You see, you thought it was funny when it was me lying under you, begging you, demanding all sorts of things from you. But we'll see how cheeky you are when it's _you_ being toyed with." Simon smiled.

John very wisely chose to remain silent. He could be subjected to all manner of physical torture without effect, but Simon knew how to break him, reduce him to little more than nothing. Simon knew how to make him beg and plead.

"You're learning already." Simon smiled. He leaned forward and kissed John gently, taking his time to feel ever crease of John's lips against his own before he slowly slid his tongue into his lover's mouth. He knew that while he'd be getting off on just taking control, John would crave more. Rather predictably, Soap attempted to take control, to pick up the pace and have Ghost follow his lead.

"Maybe you're a little more dense than I thought." Simon snapped. John cringed slightly. He knew this was going to end poorly.

"But you're lucky I'm so forgiving." Ghost continued. That didn't bode well with the Captain either. Simon wasn't forgiving, and that was the entire basis behind this little power game. Riley ducked his head and placed gentle kisses along the side of his lover's neck and down his throat and MacTavish shifted uneasily. Those were some very important veins his annoyed partner's teeth were close to, and the Brit could kill a man with less than his teeth.

Ghost kissed lower and lower until his lips were skipping over Soap's growing erection. John just wondered what the price for this would be. John groaned and bucked as his entire length disappeared down Simon's throat. Riley clearly wasn't impressed by the action, as his hands were soon pressed against the Scot's hips, holding them firmly to the mattress. Riley swallowed and the sudden and tight contraction of the Lieutenant's throat muscles pulled a moan from Soap's lips. Riley bobbed his head for a few moments and John moaned again, tugging at the silk restraints that refused to give. Simon stopped and John fought against the overwhelming urge to command the Lieutenant go right the fuck back to doing what he was doing. But doing that would only result in horrible things.

Riley kissed him again, and it was once more painfully slow and he was once again in obvious control. He ground his hips against Soap's and he managed to control his moan; John didn't.

"Is there something you'd like to ask?" Simon asked innocently.

John was _not_ about to beg, not this early in the game. He shuddered and tugged at his bindings again. He arched his hips into Simon's and hoped he could maybe make the man give in early. It wouldn't work. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Things were _never_ that easy with Simon. With a shrug, Ghost began kissing down Soap's chest again, traveling lower and lower and eventually down to the level that John so desperately wanted him to be at, but he refused to give in. He wanted John to beg, and that was the only way he was going to give in.

Simon shrugged and reached for the little bag he'd rested on the nightstand and removed a small bottle of lubricant. He watched as John's eyes followed the tube and he grinned. It spread easily across his fingers and he shoved a finger into his partner as his tongue pillaged the bound man's mouth with his tongue once more. Simon's free hand wrapped gently around his lover's throat, not enough to ever hurt him, just enough to keep him scared into submission. While John was appropriately startled and distracted by this new development, Simon slid another finger in his partner. Riley's fingers began reaching tirelessly until he found what he was looking for. MacTavish screamed and panted

"I do something you like?" Riley was again playing innocent.

John's pride shrieked in agony at the concept of giving in to this, begging, pleading, groveling if that's what it took. But his physical desires were so much stronger.

"Yes." He growled.

"Would you like for me to do it again?" Simon smiled.

"...Yes."

"Beg me."

"No."

"I could just as easily leave you here like this until you've learned your lesson. Or until I get bored and take what I will and leave you again. Doesn't matter to me any."

Soap wasn't sure how serious his partner was being, but he knew better than to test his luck. While not necessarily a common thing, Ghost could be _very_ vindictive when he wanted to be.

"Fine." He sighed. His ego would have to wait. There were more important things at stake, and Simon had seen him more vulnerable than this countless times... So why was this so goddamn hard?

"So I'll ask you one more time, do you want me to do this," Simon's fingers hit his prostate and he moaned, "again?"

"Please. Fuck, Riley, please do it again."

It wasn't quite what Ghost wanted, but he'd accept it for the moment. He'd overcome the most difficult aspect of getting revenge. Poor, poor John and his pride. He continued flicking over his lover's prostate, taking a twisted sense of pleasure in knowing that he was the only person who could even _dream_ of forcing the Captain into submission and get away with it.

Soap shifted and groaned. This wasn't anywhere near enough, and he could tell that Simon knew it. But the goddamn Brit wasn't going to do anything about it. This was his revenge.

"Gah... Simon..." John panted.

"Yes?"

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Fuck..." He couldn't get it together. He was losing his mind. It was too much of little things that weren't enough and it was killing him.

"That's not good enough, Johnny, and you know it."

"Riley, fuck me."

"That sounded too much like an order." Simon berated as he forced a third finger into the captain.

"Goddammit! Riley, please fuck me. Please."

"I think I'm having more fun tormenting you."

"Simon, please fuck me. Please don't play this game anymore. Please just fuck me. God, fuck, Christ, please. Fuck me hard, fuck me fast, I don't care, just fucking _do it._" Soap pleaded.

There was no warning or any indication that Simon even cared what he'd said. There was just the sudden feeling of loss as Riley removed his fingers, followed by the startling sensation of the Lieutenant slamming into him. No time for adjustment, just nothing to being satisfactorily filled in nearly no time at all. He arched away from the bed and tugged again at his restraints, clawing at them and cursing himself for letting himself sleep so deeply. He wanted, so desperately, to wrap his legs around Simon's waist and force the Brit deeper. It took him a moment to realize Simon wasn't moving. He growled and bucked his hips against his lover's.

"Tsk. I'm ashamed of you. Forgetting my rules already? You're very bad at this game." Ghost sighed.

"Please fuck me. Please just fuck me. Please. Fuck, Riley, please fuck me, please."

"On one condition."

"Anything. Please stop playing this game."

"I think you're holding back a moan or a scream, and I'll leave you here on your own and go fuck Archer."

"Fine. Please just fucking _move_."

If only he'd realized what he'd signed up for. There was no more trying to keep his pride and dignity in check, there was no more trying to make damn sure Simon knew who was in control. Because Simon already knew, and it certainly wasn't John.

"Fuck, Riley. Fuck."

Ghost smiled. Look what he'd done. He'd ruined MacTavish in such a beautiful and angry way. Someone so strong reduced to writhing and moaning and pleading. And he'd done it all by himself. Soap moaned again and he swore his wrists were being rubbed raw from tugging at his improvised restraints. Ghost was damn good at tying knots. He panted and gasped and he hoped Simon knew that, at this point, he was simply too lost and uncoordinated to moan. It was all he could do to just _breathe_. Riley didn't take any notice of his partner's distress and began to move faster. He bit, kissed, licked his partner's neck, chest, shoulders. He knew the best way to break John down was to put him through total sensory overload.

Soap was very thoroughly caught up in his role as a pleading submissive. It was something so completely new and it drew him in, surrounded him. He knew why it was so easy for Riley to give in now. There was something amazing about giving himself up so completely; he was just along for the ride.

"Riley... Simon... Simon I'm gonna... Fucking Christ."

"You aren't doing anything without permission." Simon growled. He snapped his hips forward viciously and kissed John violently. How was he supposed to learn his lesson if he was allowed to do as he pleased?

"Please, Simon. Please let me come. Please. Don't fucking deny me this." He gasped.

"I didn't quite catch that."

"Please let me come, Simon. Please let me. Please." John said louder.

Ghost didn't say anything for a moment and Soap nearly screamed in frustration. He was torn between disobeying just to be done with this god-awful feeling, and waiting like a good little submissive for his partner to tell him it was okay.

"You come now or not at all." Simon finally said sharply. He bit the Scot's lower lip until he broke the skin and the man beneath him bucked and moaned as he finally found his release. He continued to yelp and groan and tense and shudder as Simon continued thrusting into him, searching for his own orgasm. He eventually found it and moaned loudly as he came.

A few breaths later, he lazily removed himself from John and studied how completely sated and exhausted he looked and wondered how much money Roach would pay for a picture of him, covered in his own semen and tied so helplessly to the bed. With a shrug, Ghost picked up the digital camera from the nightstand and took the picture. He could always use it as masturbation material...

Rather than bother with trying to undo the knots he'd tied specifically to _never_ come undone, he simply cut through them and made a mental note to buy Alastair more ties later. John rubbed at his wrists and closed his eyes, just for a second. It had just been too much.

Simon wasn't surprised to see his lover sleeping; it had taken a lot of effort to overcome that monstrous ego. He walked to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, mostly for something to do and he caught a flash of bright blue in the reflection. He rinsed his mouth and picked up the digital camera and turned it on. He switched the camera on and looked at the most recent picture. He licked his lips and continued to examine the picture, feeling himself beginning to harden again. He might as well check on how well John had learned his lesson...

The intrusion wasn't entirely painless, but it wasn't without pleasure either. Looked like Simon was serious about "raping him awake". He gasped sharply as he felt Riley's teeth sink into his neck and he tried moving away from the attack. He couldn't completely deny that waking up like this wasn't a turn on, but if Simon didn't start fucking him soon, he was going to get pissed. He said as much to the Lieutenant.

"Only if you beg me first." He grinned.


	27. DG: Deleted MiniScenes

**A/N:** What follows should, in no way, be taken seriously. At all. These are just three little things I scrawled out in a notebook while I was on one of my infamous "mini-cations" to some God-forsaken Civil War battlefield because that's what the baby brother likes doing on the weekends. More "Deleted Scenes" from "Drinking Games". Little snippets that I couldn't work into the story. Generally hilarious and just nonsensical. :D

**Arhani Daforcena:** It's fine, dear. I can understand your reluctance, seeing as how you're out of your element.

**PhonyPrincess: **Pft. I want a picture like that too. XD Would they both refuse the dress? Probably. I don't think that would stop Kira from trying (and probably drunkenly) to push Simon into wearing one. XD

**TheBleeding:** I listen to whatever's catchy for the moment, haha. I'm familiar with military slang, I was just unsure by the "my" part before the grunts, haha. You'll have to forgive me for running slow. It appears that, as of late, my two favorite foods are Red Bull and Excedrin. Thanks Insomnia! XP

**xGhostxStealth:** Haha. I love portraying Ghost as a total bad ass, because, as far as I'm concerned, he is! I'm glad you liked it so much. That chapter was so much fun to write. You don't even know. XD I practice Time Crisis on a regular basis, but I don't think I'll be able to compare. He does that shit for a living now. XD

**GranBoy:** Sometimes, if something particularly inspires me and I manage to find enough down-time to build up steam and get it running, then the chapters just write themselves and the updates come faster like that. Ghost's Revenge was like that. It just flowed so nicely... And I don't mind you calling some of my chapters "smutty", because that's what they are. It takes more than that to offend me, love. You've got nothing to worry about.

**Reeserella:** It's so awesome you thought the chapter was awesome! XD :heart:

**iTestedGarrussReach:** Haha. I think we all want that picture. I know I do. Hell yes I do... Anyway! I don't think I'll ever quit writing. It's my sanity. XD Where do I come up with these things? Hm. Honestly? I have no bloody idea. Things just come and go, like flashes, mental images, half-formed pictures, a line that flickers at the back of my mind in the voice of a character, a personal experience, the way the light catches in a piece of broken glass, a single line in a song, the clicking sound my brother's butterfly knife makes, the way my hand bruises when I fail (epically) with my brother's new (heavier) butterfly knife... Everywhere. Nowhere. I'm not sure. No magical faerie dust here, haha.

**xStealthxSniperx:** I generally dislike people knowing just how intelligent I am. They tend to expect more, and I don't like working harder than absolutely necessary, so... haha. I know what you mean about word choice. I'm the worst at wanting to use a word, but having no bloody idea what the hell I'm on about and completely unable to think of a possible synonym. XD And I don't think Soap is gonna mind Ghost taking control every now and then, now that he knows what it's like. ;)

**ameij:** Pfft. Riley is like, pure sexy. I don't think it'd be difficult for him to make someone scream his name. XD I kind of like seeing how I can force the "standard dynamic" into changing. Sadistic? Maybe. Rewarding? Fuck yes. XD Thank you for the praise, love.

**FuriousPanda:** Lol. I'm glad you found it as hot to read as I found it to write. :) I was a bit worried about giving myself one just writing that chapter. XD

**

* * *

TASK FORCE VERSUS THE BHUT JOLOKIA**

"Hey Kira, you got any hot sauce? This fucking salsa is _weak_." Royce griped.

"You wouldn't know hot if it bit you in the ass." Ghost muttered.

"I bet I could eat anything you could, and then some." Royce challenged. The Lieutenant raised his eyebrow and regarded the man closely for a moment.

"You're on. Kira, what've you got?" He asked.

"Woot!" Kira yelled. She ran into the kitchen and returned with a canvas bag that emanated a rather foreboding clinking sound.

"All you bitches who want in, sit down. Alastair be a love and bring both gallons of milk and all the bread in the kitchen." Kira requested.

Alastair returned with his arms full of the supplies. Kira reached into the bag and pulled out a small glass jar. There were familiar long green peppers inside.

"Jalapeno? That's the best you got? That shit is _so_ weak." Royce said smugly.

"Jalapeno is the warm-up round. Now who's in?"

Everyone but Roach and Alastair volunteered. Roach couldn't handle anything spicier than mild salsa, and Alastair had a "delicate digestive system" that was "easily disturbed" by spicy foods. Kira handed out the jalapeno peppers and they were eaten with relatively no difficulty. The only one showing any early signs of discomfort was Soap. Kira smiled. Her brother could handle hot foods, but not quite in the same capacity she could.

They waited five minutes before the next jar was selected.

"Serrano pepper. Jalapenos max out at around 8,000 Scovilles. Serranos max out at 23,000. But I'd put these somewhere closer to 18,000." Kira shrugged. As if it were a consolation...

John was disqualified from their chili pepper contest within the first two minutes of the Serrano challenge, giving in to the painful burn and reaching for a slice of bread and the nearest jug of milk.

"One down boys. You startin' to feel hot yet?" Kira smirked.

Five more minutes passed and a jar of larger, pale yellow peppers was pulled.

"Tabasco peppers. These fuckers range between 30,000 and 50,000 on the Scoville scale."

The smell of the peppers alone was enough to make Gary's eyes water, and he wasn't even directly involved in their suicidal challenge. There were a few watery eyes, mainly Archer's, but it seemed everyone passed the five minute test. They were allowed to rinse their mouths out with milk, because Kira seemed to think the build-up of chili oil on their tongues might put them at a distinct disadvantage as the game continued. Though how this was considered "a game" was beyond Roach.

"Next on the list: Manzano peppers. 30,000 to 100,000 Scovilles. I'd rank these somewhere on the upper scale. I don't buy weak shit." She sneered at Brandon.

Archer was eliminated the first minute. He decided that was plenty for him. Only Kira, Royce and Ghost remained in the competition.

"No more little shit. We're skipping the next few peppers. This little bastard is the Caribbean Red Habanero, a hell of a lot more spicy than its friendly cousin, the standard habanero. No fewer than 300,000 Scovilles. Happy munching, boys." Kira grinned.

No one cringed. They didn't break out in a sweat, they didn't show any serious signs of discomfort. Only Royce showed slight signs of maybe finding it a touch spicy towards the end of their five minutes.

"Alright. Two glasses of milk and four slices of bread per person. No more bullshit." Kira snapped. She'd been convinced her only competition in this insane series of pepper eating would be Simon, but it seemed Royce wasn't half as bad at holding his own as he initially appeared.

"What've you got in mind?" Ghost asked, almost eagerly.

"Bhut Jolokia." Kira said solemnly. The peppers in the jar were relatively small and a brilliant shade of red.

"The Butt What?" Royce asked.

"Bhut Jolokia, Naga Jolokia, Ghost Pepper. The baddest motherfucking pepper God accidentally created. Rated at well over one million Scovilles. Hottest pepper on the planet, kid. This one gets worse over time, not better. We gotta hold it for twenty minutes." She smirked.

There as a moment's hesitation before they shrugged it off and bit into the fresh peppers.

"Gotta eat the whole thing." Kira sing-songed.

They crunched their way through the peppers and waited. Kira's face began to grow pink and she hiccuped with a grimace. Royce would've laughed, but it felt like he'd rested a small sun on the tip of his tongue. Even Ghost was breathing through his mouth in what appeared to be an attempt to cool the burn.

"Motherfucker." Brandon groaned.

"You done already? It's only been two minutes." Kira cringed.

"Fuck you." Royce moaned.

Ghost licked his lips, but seemed to decide that didn't help their burning any and lounged against the side of the couch as if there were nothing wrong. Kira closed her eyes and took a deep breath before another hiccup overcame her.

"Jesus fucking hiccup!" She yelled angrily.

By the ten minute mark, all three of them were sweating. Brandon was rocking back and forth and whispering what sounded like a prayer for his stomach to _not_ spontaneously combust, Kira seemed generally pissed off that her body had the audacity to develop the hiccups, and Simon was breathing slowly through his mouth while occasionally muttering curses under his breath.

"Oh, sweet Jesus. It's like a pain parade with no end!" Royce whined.

"Just wait until you get a mouthful of milk. Don't help none but psychologically." Ghost sighed.

"They should just call this thing Satan Fruit." Brandon hissed. It was obvious the heat was beginning to really get to him.

"Quit bitchin'!" Kira ordered. Her normally scary persona was rather ruined when she hiccuped again, a higher-pitched, girlish sound, followed by a string of creative and colorful curses.

When Alastair called time, Royce was the first to grab a gallon of milk and begin drinking. Simon reached for a slice of bread and Kira grabbed the remaining jug of milk.

"Okay, panel. Based on reactions, we need a winner." Kira said as she wiped at her face and took another drink of milk.

"It doesn't fucking help!" Brandon shrieked. He grabbed a slice of bread and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth.

"Survey says, Brandon loses." Archer rolled his eyes.

"Ghost won." Roach said.

"Yep." Stray agreed.

"Ghost." Royce nodded before drinking more milk

"You can't win forever." Kira growled. She glared at Simon and took another bite of her bread. Ghost just laughed.

"Why wouldn't _Ghost_ be able to handle the _Ghost Pepper_?" Roach muttered. Ghost wasn't the only one to laugh at that.

**BAR ON THE MAINLAND:**

"Six, corner pocket." Gary murmured. He leaned down towards the billiard table and lined up his shot, the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. He brought the cue-stick forward quickly and there was a sharp clicking as the billiard balls collided with one another and the six ball went spinning into the corner pocket.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. I'm good." Roach grinned. He took the pint of beer from Stray's hands and took a sip.

"Get your own!" The sniper snapped.

Gary stuck his tongue out and lined up his next shot, claiming it would be the seven in the side pocket. Royce sat at a high-top table with a pool cue held loosely in his hands, watching his comrade clear the table with surprisingly little effort.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Don't disappear with anyone while I'm gone." Alastair kissed Kira's cheek quickly and made his way to the back of the bar.

"Trouble, seven o'clock." Simon murmured.

"Don't get involved, boys. I haven't had a good fight in ages." Kira said quietly. The "trouble" was an intoxicated man staggering and weaving towards Kira, having seen she was now sitting at the table by herself. There was a giddy chuckle that spread through the Task Force members. If Kira couldn't scare him off, John would step up, followed by Simon, Alex, Gary, Brandon, Eric... It would be one hell of an all-out brawl.

"Hey there. Is this seat empty." He gestured with his beer bottle towards Alastair's vacant chair.

"Yeah. But if you take it, this one will be too." She smiled.

"Oh, a foreign girl. And she's feisty like an Aries. Are you an Aries?" He asked.

"Nope."

"What's your sign then? Taurus?"

"I always have a hard time remembering if it's 'Stop' or 'Do Not Enter'. One of those two."

"You got a sense of humor too. I can appreciate that. I can also appreciate those tits of yours." He slurred.

"Wow. Okay, um, do me a favor. Go back to the little Hobbit hole you crawled from and stay there." Kira ordered.

"Come on, baby. I'm not Fred Flintstone, but I can make your bed rock." He winked.

"Christ alive... Get away from me. Touch me and I swear I'll break your hands." She growled.

"Give it a chance." He insisted. He put a hand on her leg and something snapped. She slapped his hand away with her left hand, and punched him in the face with her right. She dropped from the bar stool she'd been sitting on and readied herself to hit him again.

"Wow. You hit hard." The man proceeded to pass out and there was an awkward pause before the bartender started muttering curses. He called a cab company and told them "Too-Drunk Tommy" needed a lift home again and drug the offender away. Rather than kick them out for starting a fight, the bartender bought them a round of drinks to thank them for making Tommy think twice before starting trouble in the bar again.

"She's officially as scary as the Captain." Gary nodded.

"Worse. You'd expect the Captain to hit that hard. She doesn't look like she could fight off a cold." Stray pointed out.

"Hm. Yeah. Point taken. Now you gonna take your shot or what?" Roach asked.

**TRUE HORROR:**

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." Kira tore trough her bag, pulled out a small book and screeched something unintelligible. She dialed a number on her phone and within a few minutes, a cab was waiting outside the beach house.

"Alastair, why did my sister just drive off the island, in a panic, by herself, and looking like she was dying?" John asked calmly.

"I don't know, man. I don't!" He whimpered.

Shortly after the cab had left, John and Simon had very politely knocked on the door and sat him down at the kitchen table. John was sitting next to him, and Simon was blocking his only escape route.

"No idea at all why she ran to the car saying 'Oh my God' over and over again and looked ready to cry?" Soap continued conversationally.

"I don't fucking know, man. She looked at her watch his morning and just started hyperventilating. I don't know what's wrong with her. Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew? I mean, you're scary as fuck, man." Alastair admitted.

John and Simon shared a silent glance and Ghost shrugged. He pulled a cellphone from his pocket and dialed Kira. He enabled the speakerphone function and held the phone out so it could be heard by everyone.

"What, Simon?" She demanded.

"What's wrong?" He asked as gently as he could.

"I don't have time for this _shite_, Riley. You'll know when everyone else does." She snapped.

"Kira, talk to me." John tried.

"Get me the fuck off speakerphone! No, I got one better. Hang up the goddamn phone. I'll call you in half an hour."

There was a click and the line fell dead.

"Something isn't right with her." Simon murmured.

"See? No one knows what's up with her." Alastair said quickly.

"You aren't off the hook yet." Soap snapped. Alastair shrank back into his seat and waited nervously.

Simon flashed his lover a series of complex hand gestures and John just shook his head. Alastair hated their sign language more than he hated their silent conversations.

The sound of Ghost's phone ringing was one of the most comforting sounds any of them had ever heard.

"I'm on my way back with tequila and details," was all Kira said before she hung up.

"So what was the big deal?" John demanded as Kira sang to herself and poured several shots.

"Old Faithful's running a bit behind and I thought I might've signed myself up for G-rated maxes by getting myself PG in an NC-17 scenario. Turns out things are just slow this time of year, but it's nothing to worry about." She smiled and downed a shot.

"What the hell does that mean?" Alastair demanded.

"Her period's late, thought you got her pregnant, but it's a false alarm." Simon translated.

"Oh. OH! That explains why she freaked out when she looked at the calendar!" Alastair suddenly seemed proud of himself. John and Simon were significantly less amused.

"You mean to tell me she didn't freak out until she saw the date and you didn't think to mention it?" John growled.

"Um... Oops?" Alastair offered.

John and Simon were not amused.

* * *

**General Disclaimer:** This chapter should be regarded as little more than the nonsensical excerpts from the mind of a sleepless (though not tireless) writer. These left-overs were simply unable to be worked into the main chapters for various reasons, mostly due to their strange/over-silly nature. Captain Jonathan "Soap" MacTavish, Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, Sergeant Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Royce and Archer do not belong to me, but to Infinity Ward and their affiliates. Sergeant Alexander "Stray" Kennedy, Alastair Scott Craft and Kira Jane MacTavish are my creations. If you are interested in utilizing them for whatever reason, feel free to send me a Personal Message or an Email, and expect a response within 24-48 hours.

**TL;DR:** If you recognize them from the game, they ain't mine. If you wanna borrow what _is_ mine, PM me, we'll talk.


	28. CHARITY

**A/N:** I'm sure you guys remember the Seven Deadly Sins. This is the opposite: The Seven Holy Virtues. Holy shit, this is so damn hard... First one: CHARITY. Defined here as the benevolent goodwill toward or love of humanity. Light spoilers for the Modern Warfare: GHOST comics...

**FuriousPanda:** Kira is _such_ a badass, even if no one wants to accept it 'cause she's a girl. XD

**iTestedGarrussReach:** See, hot foods don't bother me so much, but I really have to be in the mood for it, haha. I had a guy try using pickup lines on me once. Just like that drunk bastard, he didn't get the hint, so I resorted to gratuitous amounts of violence. :D And I agree. If you're hot enough, chances are I'll put up with your shit for a while. XD Kira, Kira, Kira... Her biggest freak out was that she might've been knocked up on a trip all about booze, sex, and drugs. D: And as for that theory about my "world domination"... If you tell anyone else, I'll have to kill you. XD

**UnlikeAnyOtherDay:** ...But... If I marry you... It would be immoral for me to spazz over Soap and Ghost! T^T hahaha. And in regards to the Ghost Pepper, IT WOULDN'T GO THROUGH YOU UNTIL IT LIKE ATE THROUGH YOUR STOMACH OR SOME CRAZY SHIT LIKE THAT! lmao

**duvalia:** I hope you're not busy now, 'cause I'm updating again. DX haha. Of course MacTavish would go to sleep right after! He had to fight back that massive ego of his or he'd never get off. XD Although... Riley molesting him at gunpoint sounds like a particularly fun idea... I'll have to toss that one around for a bit... To be honest though, a pregnancy scare is the only thing that will ever scare Kira. Ever. I just have this mental image of a child running up to her screaming "Mommy!" and her only response is to do the Exorcist head-rotates-360-degrees thing and she just screams "DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT! I DON'T KNOW YOU!" Meanwhile, baby-daddy (likely Alastair) runs into the room, grabs said child, and runs away, saying something about hiding in the kitchen with Daddy. XD

**Deviant-Jubilant:** Yes, the spicy foods would have me sitting out too. XD John knows better than to make those bets. Because he knows if Kira catches wind of them, she'll do everything she can to make sure he loses. Because that's what siblings do, lmao. I rather enjoy Alastair being the polar opposite of everyone else in Kira's life, because it shows that, while she loves her brother and the extended family that comes with him (e.g: The entire 141), she needs something a little more civilianized and "normal". And Simon ALWAYS knows what's going on. DUH! lol

**Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena:** Thanks, love. :)

**xGhostxStealth:** Kira is a subtle bad ass. Everyone wants to be afraid of the Task Force guys, 'cause they just _look_ mean. But beware Kira, who secretly knows how to kill you with a handful of fish scales and a chocolate bar. XD Kira is still John's sister, and technically Simon's by proxy, so of course they're going to use their powers of intimidation to scare the holy Hell out of Alastair, especially if there's a chance he did something to hurt her. And my reasoning for Ghost winning the pepper contest was pretty much, "Well, he has something as hot as MacTavish in his mouth on a regular basis (and I mean that in the dirtiest ways possible), why can't he handle something so silly as a pepper?" :P

**TheBleeding:** A vast majority of the pepper segment was largely to do with a video I found by accident of these grunt-shit Army boys sitting around, challenging each other to eat these dried ghost peppers. It was hilarious. I had to do it... I just... I had to. XD

**Reeserella:** I have no idea why it's called the ghost pepper. It's also called Bhut Jolokia and Naga Jolokia, so maybe it's just called that because it's easier to say? lol Of course Kira can kick ass! Do you really think John and Simon would let her slide by without teaching her how to annihilate EVERYTHING that crosses her? haha. Alastair's just a little oblivious in general, a lot like Royce was, just considerably less adorable about it. XD I really wanted to include the bar scene, but I needed everyone at the bar for me to go with it where I wanted, but the bar would have needed to be on the main land. And then I remembered Stray's terrified of bridges. So that concept got scrapped pretty damn quick. lol

**GranBoy:** There's always a line. Our favorite boys with the Task Force just happen to LOVE not only crossing that line, but ignoring it completely. I'm working out the kinks for a future scene involving Kira, Alastair, John, Simon, and 'hypothetical children'. What band did you get to meet? Now I'm curious. X3

**xStealthxSniperx:** YouTube search "Ghost Pepper". Some of the funniest videos ever. OMG. Haha. I like the idea of John imparting some of his wisdom in the way of all things badass to his sister. Because that's what my brothers do for me. Hell, even my YOUNGER brother is teaching me the finer points of throwing knives. XD

**PhonyPrincess:** Kira can get Simon to do just about anything. Because she's fucking awesome like that. The only person who can compete with her level of Making-Simon-Do-Stuff is, of course, Soap. lawl.

**ameij:** ...Why would I hit you? That was my thought process too! Haha. I mean, come one. We all know that MacTavish is a hell of a lot hotter than anything else Ghost could _possibly_ put in his mouth. XD Kira's little slang explanation was actually a composition of phrases I use. And it makes sense for Ghost to know her so well. I mean, lover's twin sister that you spend so much leave time with? It's practically a prerequisite. XD

* * *

It was a high contrast between what was expected and what was routinely presented. For a man called "Ghost" more often than his real name, with a mask like a skull and wit sharp enough to draw blood, he was surprisingly human.

They were walking through the mostly deserted streets of a tiny, half-forgotten border town between two warring countries in the Middle East, just a little speck of humanity in the glaring head of the desert. They weren't on any official mission. Just a stop on their way back home. But while they were on base, they were expected to perform standard duties, and that included patrol, even if they were patrolling a long, empty stretch of nothing at all. This wasn't even really a combat zone; the only live ammunition used was down at the firing range on base, or at camel spiders if someone was bored. But they were told to patrol, and they walked their patrol.

Roach was kicking at pebbles and tin cans and glass bottles as he walked. He sighed almost silently and cracked his neck. Soap returned his attention to Ghost, who had a stick in his hand and was dragging it through the sand, leaving a line behind them. There came a chorus of giggles as they approached a small alley between two buildings. A line of children with rags tied over the lower portion of their faces formed up behind him, all dragging sticks in the sand as well, imitating his militaristic gait and exaggerating the way he walked. Simon paused and the children stopped with a giggle. He turned to face them and they froze, coming as close to attention as five children could. Ghost turned around and started walking again, the children again imitating him. This time, he turned quickly and the children couldn't form up fast enough. They dissolved into giggles and ran up the road ahead of them.

They'd been in this forgotten strip of desert for two and a half weeks waiting for their intel to hit, and had spent most of that time wandering around in the desert in full gear, carrying weapons weighted down with more bullets than they would ever fire in the middle of No-Mans-Land. In those two and a half weeks, Simon had managed to befriend the few children that this side of the city offered. It had become routine for them to meet up with the children, who seemed to find Ghost entertaining, Soap moderately interesting, and Roach rather boring.

It had started when a group of the children had been spotted playing in front of a building and one of them had fallen down the three concrete steps the building boasted and began wailing pitifully, as injured children usually do. Simon, being the secretly caring person he was, had approached the situation with the intent of helping the child. These children were used to seeing men in uniform, but the skull balaclava was new and unusual, especially in this heat. The sobs were reduced to fearful whimpers and Simon reached into his pack and removed a roll of gauze and proceeded to bandage the boy's arm from the wrist to the shoulder, and, using the bit of Arabic they'd all learned on their travels, told him he looked "just like a real hero now". The boy's face lit up and he began talking to his friends in Arabic, far too quickly for any of the Task Force members to follow, but they could tell the Lieutenant was receiving positive reviews. That was their second day in the desert.

On the third day, the little boy Riley had "saved" ran towards him, holding a black bandanna with a white skull painted across the front. Riley pulled off the balaclava, enjoying the slight breeze as it touched his face, and he replaced it with the bandanna the boy held extended. The children all giggled and ran away. They had been in the desert for around 18 days now and Riley wore the bandanna through the desert instead of his balaclava.

One of the soldiers on the base had received a care package once and used a box of cookies and several chocolate bars as betting material for a poker game. Simon, even without the mask that was supposedly "covering his bluffs", had won the game and relieved the man of his prized snacks. Rather than keep them for himself, Riley took a few cookies and a chocolate bar or three and gave them to the children who now waited for their "friend" to arrive. They squealed with joy when he presented them with the presents and told them "thank you" and gestured to the bandanna wrapped around his face. The children followed them around and very patiently taught Riley their names and a few Arabic words he didn't know. When they reached the base, one of the smaller children, a girl about seven, hugged his legs tightly before running away, screaming with laughter.

"Never understood your way with children." Soap sighed that night. Ghost rolled his eyes and continued undressing, well aware of his lover watching his every move from the bed.

"I put up with you well enough." Simon smirked.

John stalked towards his XO with a very predatory air and pushed the Lieutenant against the wall. Simon gave in to MacTavish's persistent kisses with very, very little protest. The kids and sex with John were the two things that helped Riley stave off madness from the sheer monotony of things.

Soap remembered that night with the same startling clarity with which he remembered most things. He remembered the pitch of the moan Riley let slip when his neck was bitten the first time that night, he remembered the way Simon had screamed his name... A sudden shout brought Soap back to the present and he found himself holding his rifle a little tighter than before and with sudden purpose. He relaxed when he saw that instead of a gaggle of children gathered around his lover, there was only one who was trying to explain something to Simon, who was having a hard time following the rapid Arabic spilling from the boy's lips. The child soon grew frustrated and yelled something. An older child, probably around nine or ten years old, emerged from the shade offered by a building and listened to the younger boy babble quickly to him.

"He say can't come today. Khalilah is back. No walk no more." The boy said, struggling with the English words. Simon asked to see Khalilah and the children led him to the side of the building. John cringed. It was clear that Khalilah had been involved in something terrible before she returned to the quiet city. The left side of her face was scarred and she was missing both of her legs from mid-shin. The stark white bandages around her legs told Simon that "back" meant back from hospital. She was a pretty girl, older than the other children, looking about eleven or twelve, and she seemed only slightly disheartened by her new appearance.

"They want to go but will not leave me. I cannot come. Too slow." Khalilah sighed.

"Your English is very good." Simon murmured.

"American soldiers, American doctors, American teachers, American books. So much English. Learning was needed." She shrugged.

There was a distant cracking that could have been gunfire and Soap turned and fixed his gaze on the horizon, scanning the mostly empty area for signs of something that might become a problem. A squeal from the children brought his attention back to Simon, who was giving Khalilah a piggy-back ride, much to the delight of the girl and all of her friends, who now felt no guilt for following Ghost around. One of the boys twittered something, gesturing wildly to his face and then to Ghost.

"He wants to know why your face is covered all the time. He asks if you are superhero like on the shows." Khalilah asked.

John knows why he wears the mask; to the enemies that killed his first team, he was a dead man back from the unknown beyond, a dead man sent from hell to kill them, and he rather liked that concept of being perceived so hauntingly by his foes. But rather than scare the children with stories of torture and being buried alive and forced to dig his way out of his grave with a human jawbone (1), he simply laughed and said that yes, he was a superhero. This seemed to delight the children more than anything he'd previously said and they started asking questions about his superpowers. All translated by Khalilah. When they reached the base, Simon turned around and proceeded to carry the girl back to the shade of the alley where they'd found her, insisting that it was only fair since he'd carried her this far. He turned to leave, but the girl stopped him. She pushed his sleeve back and lifted a battered-looking paintbrush and dipped it in a small tub of black paint and wrote something on Ghost's arm in curving, arcing Arabic.

"What does it say?" Ghost asked, examining his forearm when she was done.

"Malika. It means 'Angel'." She explained. Simon smiled and thanked her and began walking back towards the base.

"She thinks you're an angel." Soap chuckled, his stride matching the Lieutenant's.

"You sure I'm not?" Riley challenged playfully.

"I'm fairly certain you are." John smiled.

* * *

(1): I haven't actually managed to get my hands on the comic books yet, but that scene was detailed out in the Wikia site, which is what I have to roll with for the time being. -_-;

**DISCLAIMER:** You guys KNOW I don't own any of this shit... If I did happen to own it... Well... The campaign mode would've lasted longer and we would have gotten an in-depth look at how they spent their leave time. And by that I mean gratuitous amounts of cut-scenes showing slashiness. :D


	29. FAITH

**A/N:** FAITH. Defined here as the complete trust; something that is believed with complete conviction. This one vaguely and loosely follows a one-shot I posted on ACOD called "Free". It isn't really necessary for you to read it to understand this one, but it would help. If you do decide to read it, beware: "Free" is over 13,000 words long. ALSO! This one is really kinda fluffy, but the footnote at the end explains it.

**Reeserella:** Haha. Thank you. That one made me smile when I was writing it. :)

**duvalia:** Ummm... Close enough to a weekend? XD Ohdear... I think there would be _more_ hell to pay if the baby were Royce's, lol. Would you know that Sebastian had to go and inspire that one too? Sneaky bastard. XD

**TheBleeding:** Rule One: Don't ever worry about rambling. I do it all the time, so I rarely notice when others do it. XD I have a few foster brothers and a veritable fuck-ton of close friends either in the military or going to school on military scholarships. One of my foster brothers is in the Army and he had these stories of kids in Afghanistan thinking it was funny trying to teach the soldiers Arabic. Spent almost 10 months in Afghanistan and he heads to Iraq in January. T_T

**xGhostxStealth:** Haha. Thank you. I look forward to seeing anything you come up with. :) I'm working on getting my hands on the comics, I'm just a little broke at the moment. XD

**Arhani "Hanny" Daforcena:** Well... If Ghost is a Superhero... Then that must make Soap... Um... The bestest Superhero ever? XD

**ameij:** It's a gift. And I love making you cry. XD I love you too. :D

**xStealthxSniperx: **My younger brother is 14, so he has me buy a lot of his knives for him. XD I try doing tricks with them, but I'm easily distracted. He was teaching me to use his butterfly knife and I managed to bruise most of the back of my right hand and stab myself in the palm of my left hand, lol. No, your phrase did not sound corny. It made sense to me because I know exactly what you mean. :) They are called the Seven Holy Virtues and these are going to be a little more difficult than the others because these guys are so often portrayed as anything but virtuous... Also, no. Ezio does not appear until the second game. :(

**iTestedGarrus'reach: **As long as you promise to keep the plan a secret, I suppose I can let you live. XD I'm terrified for the sake of my hypothetical children, mostly because I have very little patience and I'm immature myself (though I've started talking to one of my ex-boyfriends again and my mom listed genetic reasons we would make awesome babies together). Heh heh.

**GranBoy:** I did a Google image search of that band of yours, and I must agree. Very pretty. :D Fleshing out the characters is a huge pet peeve of mine. Just because they make their living getting shot at doesn't mean that's all there is to it, you know? I kinda like to think that Ghost is only a bad-ass when he needs to be. Because really, the CO is the one everyone is scared of. The XO is the one everyone runs to, so he can't be mean _all_ the time... Haha.

**Aphelion:** OMG! YUSSSS! :D Send iiiiiiiit! :D

**Joveesia:** Haha. Yeahhh. I'm a mega-nerd. Serenity and Firefly are seriously amazing. :D The gameplay is pretty good on campaign, even though it's a really short story mode... Yeah... I hope you get a chance to play it for reals. And thank you. Ameij and I have actually been linking back and forth to each other for quite a while now, haha. "If Only" was the first one, actually... We tend to accidentally inspire one another. XD

**Strude:** Haha. I have never personally done drugs. Drinking on the other hand... Well... Let's not venture there. XD Trust me, things like the Soap/Ghost/Stray/Roach have crossed my mind... I just have to be careful which boundaries I cross, because there may not be any coming back once I unleash those beasts, heh heh. I'm glad you like the stories luv, and there will be plenty more of them. :)

* * *

It was a delicate situation, one that required finesse and patience and just a little luck. Roach had opened up his closet and a parade of skeletons had come dancing out of the farthest reaches and the darkest corners. No matter how much self-help experts said it would help you to get secrets off your chest, they always failed to mention how much it can torment you while you're trying to recover from telling those secrets.

It had happened before a mission labeled "routine" but with the potential to become a shit-storm in the blink of an eye. They were to be taking a foreign liaison on the mission to keep another government happy. Gary had shut down, pushed everyone way, became paranoid, tried to opt out of the mission. He'd finally confessed to Ghost that he'd been involved with the liaison twice before, and both times had ended in severe abuse, mental, physical, and in the conclusion of their second try, sexual.

It had been almost a week since their mission went south and the liaison used everyone's mad scramble for survival as an opportunity to beat Gary again. Simon had tried stopping the crazed man, tried talking sense into him, but it had ultimately ended in the liaison's death, one that was officially listed as a casualty of their war with Ultranationalists. In that week, Gary had made only minimal progress. He was still plagued by nightmares, he still woke up shuddering and whimpering and screaming.

Riley had eventually broken down and told Soap what was going on with his lover. John had listened with a passive expression, though his eyes gave him away; he was just as appalled by Yuri's behavior as anyone could possibly be. Simon later told him about the nightmares, how Gary would spend much of the night pleading with demons from his past. He was beginning to look haggard and run sluggishly. Ghost was genuinely concerned.

"No. No, don't. Please no." Roach begged.

Ghost's fingers slid through Sanderson's dark hair and the Sergeant quieted some. The clock on the nightstand mocked their plight with a cheery blue display: "0216". Simon rubbed at his eyes with a sigh that was nearly silent.

"You don't have to keep waking up for me." Gary mumbled.

"Yes I do."

"Just makes me feel guilty."

"Why?"

"Because now _you're_ losing sleep because I'm such a damn fool."

Shocked and appalled by that proclamation, Simon sat up and pulled Gary onto his lap and held him close.

"I wouldn't do anything if I didn't bloody well want to, so you've got nothing to feel guilty over."

"Hn."

"What do you dream?" Ghost asked after a moment. Roach just shifted and sighed and contemplated the best way to answer that question. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked that question, and he doubted it would be the last time.

"Sometimes they're flashbacks to Yuri and Ukraine. Sometimes... Sometimes they're worse."

Riley waited for Gary to continue.

"Sometimes they're about you. A lot of you leaving because I'm fucked up. Standard shit."

Simon sighed. Even after Yuri was gone, Roach was having these nightmares and insecurities.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sanderson. You have to trust me in the way that I trust you." Simon murmured.

"What do you mean, in the way you trust me?" Gary demanded.

"I've got a long history of heart-break and eventually promised myself I'd never get close to someone with the potential to hurt me again. I'm trusting you to help me keep that promise." Ghost eventually admitted. The words were heavy, words he'd never spoken aloud before, not even to himself. He was putting his fragile trust in romanticism in Roach's hands, with the faith that the trust would remain intact, and with the hope that the Sergeant could prove his cynicism wrong.

Neither of them said anything for a long while, but it was Gary who broke the silence when he said, "When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me that falling in love was a lot like gardening. She said that sometimes relationships are like oleanders; they look so pretty, so inviting, until you realize how poisonous they are, and sometimes it's too late. I didn't know what she meant until I met Yuri. He was my oleander; so pretty and completely toxic."

"Sounds like your mother was a wise woman."

"She was a gardener with a lot of analogies and metaphors." Gary chuckled.

Ghost smiled and nuzzled the side of the American's neck. So many people liked waxing poetic about how compromise was the death of relationships, but they had never experienced what it was to be in love, but restrained by ruined trust.

"You aren't planning on sleeping again, are you?" Riley almost stated.

"Not really."

"Would it help the nightmares if I promised, right now, that I'm not going anywhere until you do?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm not leaving you. You're going to have to leave me first."

Sanderson fell asleep with a smile that night, though he was unsurprised to wake up to an empty bed; Simon had said something about needing to go in early to cover some kind of report with MacTavish and Shepherd. He was, however, surprised to see a slip of paper sitting under a single gardenia. The petals felt soft under the Sergeant's fingers and he looked at the slip of paper with a curious expression. There was a URL, but to what, he was unsure. Gary took a seat at the small desk where a small laptop sat, the white gardenia still clutched in one hands. What had his mother told him it represented?

_"You're lovely, is what it says. It also says 'sweetest love'. If you get a gardenia, it means you're the one."_

Gary wondered if Simon knew that when he left it. Rather than dwell on the thought, Roach opened the laptop and hurried to enter the address with shaking hands. It was a link to a song, one that insisted, "I don't know why I love you. I just know I can't stop thinking about you. Oh wait, it's 'cause you make me smile." (1)

At the bottom of the screen, he noticed a secondary window open in a text document, labeled only "READ ME". Rather than disobey the capital letters, Roach opened the document.

_"Before you call and ask, yes. I know what the gardenia means. Yes, the song is ridiculously romantic. But I'm more than willing to seem like an idiot fool if that's what it takes for you to trust that I won't go anywhere, and I'd hurt myself before I'd hurt you. I'll be home in time to take you to lunch. I love you. ~Simon"_

Sanderson looked at the flower in his hands and the hand-written link that led a song that Ghost had selected specifically to convey how serious he was. It wasn't so much a matter of if he _wanted_ to trust Riley, but more of a condition of if he _could_. He looked back up at the letter, the beat to the song still in his head.

Ghost opened the door to the small house he rented with a sigh. He hated paperwork; bullets were easier to handle and required less diplomacy. He heard an eerily familiar song playing in the back of the house and he smiled when he followed it back to the bedroom. Lounging in the middle of the bed, gardenia in hand and song on loop, was Sanderson. Riley dropped onto the mattress next to his lover and watched the American run his fingers over the edges of the flower petals. He eventually looked away from the flower and at Simon. He nodded for a second before he spoke.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Ghost asked.

"I'll trust you. Until you fuck it up of course."

"Now that we have that settled and you've made it clear you're going to trust me enough to stick around, I think it's time for you to meet my daughter."

"Your what?" Gary screeched as he bolted upright.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Simon began laughing so hard he was crying, and "The...The look on your face..." was all he could manage.

"Oh that's really cute. What if I used _my_ kid as a joke? It's all fun to bring up a hypothetical kid, but it's not so funny when you've got one yourself. Just because Melanie wants to treat him like a joke, I have to be more responsible and actually _raise_ Thomas." Gary scowled.

"Wait... What?" Simon asked, the laughter dying. Sanderson continued to glare at him for a few seconds before he, too, lost his composure.

"How did you come up with names that fast?" Riley asked as he laughed.

"Melanie was my mother's name. Thomas was my dog's name."

He'd promised to trust Simon, something that he knew could lead to heartbreak, but he knew that it was necessary. As they continued to laugh at their own silly jokes, Sanderson got the impression that maybe he could leave it all behind, assuming he could let the fear go and trust Simon to act accordingly. When they made their way to the pub they usually had lunch at and Riley knew exactly what his lover would order and gave him that gentle, knowing smile of his, Gary decided that there was no way Simon was an oleander. He knew that that he could trust Riley and he could trust that there would be no toxicity here.

* * *

(1) The song referenced is "You Always Make Me Smile" by Kyle Andrews.

**A/N2:** Yes. This one was fluffy and a bit out of character, but I couldn't help it. My favorite ex and I have been talking a lot lately (he calls me at least once a week, texts me every day, and plays Xbox Live with me every chance he gets) and he recently posted the referenced song on my Facebook page, saying that it really reminded him of me. So I of course grinned like an idiot for the rest of the day and I wrote most of this while listening to that song. Hope it wasn't TOO unbearable, but FAITH was kinda difficult to write for these guys T_T


	30. FORTITUDE

**A/N:** FORTITUDE. I feel so lazy for doing it this way, but I'm over-worked, getting sick again. **AU STORY!** An exploration of what the Task Force might've been like in high school (and yes, I know, they're from all over the world. Deal with it. In two years of high school I met a boy born in Puerto Rico, dated a boy from Panama but also lived in Germany, a pair of twins from China, a girl born in Ireland, a boy from England, a girl from Nigeria, and worked for a guy from South Africa). Modeled after schools in the 'States because I've never been anywhere else. Got a problem? Fly me to another country and pay for everything while I'm there. :D Also, if it makes you feel any better, this chapter is super long to make up for my lack of updating sooner. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** I like to think that it's my job to doubt myself a little. Because if I ever start believing I'm perfect, there'll be no more room to learn and grow. :3 Ahh, jokes about children... I have a cousin who is eight years younger than me, and I was at a competition for my ROTC unit and she was following me around like little kids usually do (she was six or seven at the time) and I had a few people convinced she was my daughter. I'm a bad, bad person. XD

**Arhani 'Hanni' Daforcena:** Will do. :D

**xStealthxSniperx:** Yes, I give in to the fluff-demon sometimes. XD The first game? I beat it like three times and I go back from time to time and play around on it for a little bit, usually for research purposes. The games I play really kinda depends on the mood I'm in. I spent two weeks playing only Left 4 Dead games. I've spent most of my evening this evening playing the original Sonic the Hedgehog for the Sega Genesis. XD

**duvalia:** You and me are bad influences... I keep you from doing the work you're supposed to be doing, and you make me late to work. I think that evens us right the hell out. XD Bahaha! Yes. I would seriously kill someone, especially if Jon had done something stupid like get knocked up. X3 "Rainbow in my cloud"? I once had someone tell me I was the mean voice to their schizophrenia, does that count? Lol. Could Riley be an oleander? That's just as likely as anything else... Maybe we'll cover that betrayal in a different chapter. ;D

**iTestedGarrussReach:** Thank you. /blush. Haha. But you should see my reaction when I get a review. ^/^ I tend to play mix-and-match with my pairings, just because there are some characters that give you a little more room to toy with their personalities. It's also my personal motto that any pairing is cannon if you try hard enough, sooo... XD That song always makes me happy. :3

**GranBoy:** STALKER! No. I'm just kidding. :) I think that real-life experience is important to writing. It's like Stephen King once said, "write what you know". And if you've lived it, you know it. :D Of course Stephen King also said he was offended when people called him a monster because he had the heart of a little boy. In a jar. On his desk. So that's kind of a double-edge sword if you think about it hard enough. XD Soap/Ghost is still a good portion of my stories, because they're pretty damn perfect for one another. Sometimes though, you think of a scenario and a certain pairing just jumps out at you, no matter how random, you know? Haha.

**Reeserella:** Your improvisation made me giggle a little. Or a lot. XD This one is only fluffy in the relationship aspect. The rest of it is... Well... Not fluffy. Not at all. :O

**ecto1B:** Thanks, love. :) It means a lot when people tell me that they read something they wouldn't normally read because it was well-written. It seriously makes me smile. Hella much. :D

**Alley-Oop:** Preemptive conversion. :D I think I'm going to be writing for this fandom for quite some time yet... I'm glad you liked them this far. :)

* * *

Johnathan MacTavish was sitting on the top of a worn picnic table, smoking a cigarette even though you really weren't supposed to on school grounds. His blue eyes scanned the people coming up the walkway and towards the entrance of the school. Being a senior, there were plenty of faces he recognized, but the only ones he really bothered knowing were at the table with him. Sitting on the table top next to him, occasionally taking the cigarette from his hands for a pull, was his lover, Simon Riley. The Brit was similarly scanning the crowd of people from behind his sunglasses. The teachers had tried for years to force him to stop wearing them around, but it never worked. Lounging on one of the benches was Alexander Kennedy, Simon's foster brother, listening to music and generally exuding a persona of someone who couldn't care less about anything at that moment. Sitting on the other side of the table was Richard Vale, reading a Spanish novel with a bored expression.

"So've you heard?" Simon asked.

"Heard what?" John didn't look at him, choosing instead to keep an eye on the crowd.

"There's another transfer student. Gary Sanderson. Senior this year." Riley informed his lover. John just nodded.

"Know what he looks like?" Richard asked.

"Of course I know what he bloody looks like." Simon snapped.

Rather than respond in kind, Vale shrugged and went back to reading his book. Simon took the cigarette from John's hand and finished it before grinding it out on the wooden tabletop.

"There he is." Simon pointed.

Sanderson was struggling to read the map of the school while balancing his schedule, backpack, and a text book. His hazel-gold eyes were flicking between the two papers rapidly and he was shaking his messy, almost-black hair out of his eyes.

"What is he?" Richard asked.

"American." Simon murmured, knowing exactly what his friend was asking.

Stray, having heard the conversation over his music sat up and observed the new kid desperately trying to figure out the quickest way to get to his first class. The 141 (so called because that was the number of their favorite teacher's room where they were so commonly found), typically didn't interact with people if they didn't have to. John took note of the way he was determined to figure out where his classes were on his own, not even glancing around for someone else who might be able to help him. Simon noted the way he was still aware of the goings on around him, often moving out of the way of a potential collision without even glancing away from his paper. Alex noticed the way he favored his left side and what looked like a new scar cutting through his right eyebrow. Richard was reading his lips, watching the words flow from familiar English to something else and then back again. They all noticed when trouble began approaching the new kid.

"Vladimir, coming up on the new kid's blindside." Alex growled.

Vladimir Makarov was a noted bully, frequently causing fights with the 141, mostly on the grounds that John and Simon were in a relationship and he frequently told his little group of followers that he would have nothing to do with gays. Vladimir said something to the Gary that couldn't be heard across the distance and over the sound of the students. Gary folded up his papers, and tucked them into his back pocket before he shoved his text book into his bag and turned to face him.

"He's encountered the bastard before. He's not worried about being distracted because it's rude... Look at him! He's ready for a fucking fight." Alex murmured.

For the most part, they took their cues from John. He kept them out of trouble, did everything he could to help them, even going so far as to hunt down the president of the math club to tutor Kennedy when his grades in Trigonometry started dropping.

MacTavish didn't say anything. He just stood up and started walking. Simon ground out the cigarette and followed his lover. Alex paused his music and got off the bench. Richard sighed and stuck the paperback into his rear pocket.

"I told you that if you want to survive here, you will need friends." Makarov smiled.

"Why don't you take your offer and go terrify a freshman or something?" Gary snapped. The smile on Vladimir's face wavered. He apparently didn't notice the four friends standing so close, blending in with the flow of students around them.

"Oh, little Sanderson. You have already met the welcoming committee to the neighborhood, have you not?" Vladimir swatted at Gary's side and the newcomer bit back a wince.

"I'm not interested in joining your cult. And besides, where I come from, it stops being cool to bully kids out of their lunch money when you turn eleven. Or in Soviet Russia, does money steal you?" Gary sneered.

"He's either stupid or incredibly ballsy." Richard mused.

"Watch your words, Sanderson." Vladimir said lowly, danger outlining his words.

"Tell you what, Makarov, I'll fight you. But I want those trained fucking apes that jumped me last time to stay the hell out of it. I know kids make jokes about you for having one blue eye and one green one. How about I solve that problem by blacking both of them?"

Vladimir raised his hand to hit the new kid at the same time Gary readied himself to block it and retaliate. Before either of them were really aware of what was happening, Simon had pushed Vladimir back while Alex and Richard planted themselves in front of Makarov's "friends" that would only be too willing to hit Gary. John pulled Gary out of the way and planted the transfer student behind him.

"Piss of, Vlad." Simon growled.

"Now you turn into vigilantes trying to make a difference. You are no better than we are." Makarov hissed.

"You have fifteen seconds before I tell Chemo over there what you said about his cousin." Simon gestured to Richard.

"What?" Richard's calm voice was suddenly frigid and dangerous. He glared at Vladimir and the Russian almost looked nervous for a second.

"And three seconds after that, I'll give Stray leave to pick one of you and get even for two weeks ago." John said with a nod to Alex.

Alex smiled and shifted his stance.

"And then Ghost'll make sure there's enough confusion to give them time to do what they will." MacTavish continued.

"Which leaves Soap with enough time to beat the hell out of you personally." Simon smirked.

Vladimir gave an order in Russian and he and his two friends walked away with a few curses.

"Did he really say something about my cousin?" Richard asked as they left.

"I'm not going to confirm or deny anything." Simon shrugged.

"I didn't need you to interfere."

They paused their conversation and turned to Gary.

"I mean, thanks for your concern, but I can fight." He said bitterly.

"Wasn't an insult, Gary. We just have a personal bit with the ponce." Ghost said nonchalantly.

"How do you know me?" Sanderson demanded.

"Can we have this conversation back over that way?" Stray interrupted.

They led Sanderson back to their bench where they introduced themselves with their given names.

"That's great. Now I know who's stalking me. Now _how in the fuck do you know me_?" He demanded.

"I like to stay up to date with the student directories. Helps pass the time." Simon shrugged.

"And no one _else_ finds this creepy at all?" Sanderson asked.

"You get used to it. Ghost's good with computers. Likes abusing that power from time to time." Richard shrugged.

"And another thing, the nicknames? No "Goose" or "Private Joker" or "Cowboy"? Lemme guess, "Spock" and "Checkov" moved, right? Or was that "Bleach" and "Specter"?"

"Balls to past his knees man. I like this kid." Chemo smiled.

"What's your first class?" John asked.

"Ancient history with Price. Why? Gonna follow me there?"

John laughed before asking Richard to tell Price that Gary was with them and was going to be a little late.

"He's just going to accept that as an answer?" Gary demanded.

"Price and us go way back. He'll cover us for just about anything. Always had our back, that one." Stray smiled.

"Well that's nice to know." Sanderson said with clearly fake enthusiasm.

"You're quickly deteriorating from being amusing to being plain obnoxious. We're only trying to be friendly." Soap admonished.

Gary had the sense to look appropriately abashed and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

"The first person I met when I moved here was that heterochromatic asshole and his two gorillas. He told me every new kid needs friends. I told him I was capable of making friends on my own. Didn't blow over too well. I'm used to fighting, and even getting my ass kicked, but not over being new." There was a bitterness to Gary's tone, but no one commented on it.

"Let's see your schedule." John said gently.

Gary pulled it from his back pocket and three of his new "friends" (a term he wasn't sure he'd be able to use for long) looked it over. They spoke quickly and almost cryptically before Stray announced that between the five of them, there was quite a bit of schedule overlapping, which wasn't all that uncommon, considering their school was a relatively small one. Richard returned just in time to be informed that he was going to be showing Sanderson from fourth period to the cafeteria, and then to lunch, and seventh period at the end of the day. He took it like most things, with a bored shrug that made you wonder if he was even listening.

"So why'd you guys single me out? I'm sure that doucher has plenty of other victims around here." Gary pointed out.

"Because you, unless most of the kids here, were willing to fight, even though you knew it was going to be dirty and you were probably going to lose. That kind of fortitude is rare around here. We like that." Alex explained.

"So, what, now I'm part of your gang or whatever?" Gary seemed to instinctively distrust most of what they were saying.

"We're just offering to be friends." Soap murmured. He stuck another cigarette between his lips and lit it. He only managed a single hit before Ghost took it from him and took a hit himself, who then had it stolen by Stray.

"You smoke?" Stray asked. Gary gave a curt nod and took the smoke from the Irishman without hesitation. While he pulled from the cigarette, Alex asked Ghost a question in what Gary recognized as Gaelic. They almost seemed to be debating something before an agreement was made, though Sanderson couldn't be sure what they were discussing, or what conclusion they'd come to. He took a final pull from the cigarette before he passed it back to John. He hadn't smoked in ages, but there was no denying the fact that the nicotine had a calming effect on him. He wondered if maybe that was his problem.

The bell announcing the start of first period sounded and Gary almost moved to head to class, but a dismissive wave from John told him that there was no problem in being a little late to class. If these guys were willing to arbitrarily pull strings to allow him to be late to first period, he figured he could trust them until he was given a reason to do otherwise.

"How was your first day?"

Gary looked up from his notebook and at his mother. She stood in the doorway of his room with a concerned expression. She had been the one to apply the butterfly stitches to his eyebrow and wrap up his ribs after his fight with Vladimir.

"I was fine, Mom. I made a few new friends today." He smiled.

"Oh?" Her dark brown eyes brightened at the prospect. Her son fluctuated between being disagreeable for his own reasons to being painfully quiet, making it difficult for him to find friends.

"Yeah. Four of them. Alexander Kennedy, Johnathan MacTavish, Simon Riley and Richard Vale." Gary smiled. His first day had gone well enough, even after he'd encountered Vladimir again. The Russian had always made sure to glare his hardest, though it had little effect on Gary.

"Did you say you were friends with a Riley?" His mother asked suddenly, interrupting his musings.

"Yeah. Simon. Why?"

"Is he British?"

"Yes. Are you planning on telling me why this makes a difference?" His words were harsh, but his tone was one of irritated indifference. Ordinarily, children would be punished for such an insolent tone, but she knew that was simply his way.

"I invited a Molly and Conner Riley to dinner this Saturday. I assume they'll be bringing Alex as well. Maybe you won't be so bored this time." She teased lightly.

Gary smiled at his mother and then returned his attention to his text book. He and his mother had moved a few times before, and she was well-known in every neighborhood they resided in for her ability to cook and throw wonderful dinner parties. There were usually not many people his age in attendance, leaving him to pretend he would rather be there than anywhere else on the planet.

Rather than wandering around, completely lost and alone as most new students were generally forced to do, he headed towards the picnic table where he new friends were sitting. Vladimir cut in front of him and he stumbled to a rough stop.

"Move." He growled. His night had been plagued by nightmares and strange dreams, as they generally and typically were, and he was in no mood to be encountering people at this hour, especially assholes.

"Those _unnaturals_ will only save you as long as they deem you useful." Makarov said, his voice somewhere between a predatory growl and an admonishing purr. He circled around Gary, who remained still and stoic.

"Oh yeah? And how are they unnatural, exactly?"

"They lay only with each other, never an outsider of their group. Do not think you have not caught their eye. The small one, the Stray, he has been watching you since you arrived yesterday."

"I could say the same for you, Vlad. You sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" He smirked.

He was expecting retaliation for the comment. It was only natural. The retaliation came in the form of a swift jab to his damaged ribs. He swung back with a hiss and connected with the side of Vladimir's face. Before more blows could be exchanged, the 141 separated the two quickly. Their harsh and stoic presence deterred a second attack and Vladimir again turned away. Gary was pulled back to the bench and stuck between Ghost and Stray on the bench.

"He seems to hate you guys for being gay." Gary hissed as he felt his ribs to make sure his bandages hadn't come loose. Richard chuckled to himself and said the real reason he was so bitter was because he had a crush on Simon, who ended up going for John in the end.

"Says the only reason you guys are keeping me around is because Alex has a crush on me. Fuck all... That bastard did a number on my ribs, and won't let up with them either." He groaned. He either didn't notice or was just ignoring the faint blush that dusted Stray's cheeks, though Ghost sent him a knowing smile.

"And my mom said you," he nodded at Simon, "were coming over for dinner this weekend. Good Christ... Alex, could you fix this shit for me? Just help me tuck this edge of the wrap in." Alex nodded and helped fix the bandages with surprisingly steady hands.

"I do seem to remember Mum saying something about keeping the schedule open this Saturday night." Simon shrugged.

"I was supposed to have study group that night." Stray huffed.

"Well it looks like you're rescheduling." Riley slapped his adopted brother on the back of the head and the Irish stray bit at the retreating hand with an audible snapping of teeth.

"Well that's a botched fucking job you're doing." A female voice interrupted the conversation and Alex's hands were slapped away from the bindings. She was a tall and lanky girl, with long legs that track runners and supermodels alike would kill for. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue that appeared black around the edges of the iris, and her rust-colored hair was swept into a high ponytail.

"Hold your shirt up, kid." She ordered. Rather intrigued, Gary complied and her long fingers quickly began unwrapping his bandages.

"You're not very nice today, Talon. Skipping a hello to your boyfriend and going right to undressing a stranger." Ghost teased.

"Fuck off and use that smart mouth of yours to light me a cigarette." She snapped. Simon chuckled and complied.

"Morning, Kai." Richard murmured.

"Morning baby." She smiled. In a matter of seconds, she had completely unwrapped Sanderson's ribs and began winding the bandage around them in a much neater fashion. Riley passed her a lit cigarette and she clamped it between her lips as she finished the wrapping.

"Sorry for the rudeness. Ended up having a long night in the least pleasant of ways." She sighed. She took a long pull from the cigarette and handed it to John with a dismissive wave.

Chemo handed her his nearly lukewarm coffee and she smiled at him.

"I'm Kai Harper, Richard's girlfriend. The boys call me Talon. I suppose we'll have a nickname for you if you stick around much longer."

She was almost a complete opposite of the quiet Ricky, not afraid to speak her mind where her boyfriend weighed the outcome of his words. Where Ricky was quiet, contemplative, almost withdrawn, it was easy to see Kai was loud, boisterous, and not afraid to be spontaneous.

"So Vale tells me you got fucked up fighting the infamous Makarov." She smirked over the edge of her coffee cup.

"I wouldn't call it fucked up..." Gary muttered.

"All the same. You're the first new kid to pass through here that hasn't given in quicker than a strung-out hooker, and that's what makes a damn good bit of difference. See, we aren't a gang or a club or anything like that. It's more like family, held together by similar values, a good dose of rebellion, and enough balls to turn every girl in a 20-mile radius into a pissed off dike." Kai said. She had a no-nonsense kind of air about her and it was obvious she wasn't about to take shit from anyone. Before Gary could mention this to her, their conversation was interrupted.

"Well, isn't this a cute family?" Vlad sneered.

"Piss off." Ghost yawned.

"You seem to be interfering with my business more and more of late, Simon." Makarov said with a frown.

"If you want to conduct _any_ business in the future, I suggest you walk away." John warned. The tension in the courtyard escalated and more than a few students vacated the area quickly. Sanderson figured the rivalry in play here would be well-known.

Three people walked up to the table behind Makarov and Gary recognized them immediately as the goons that had kicked his ass only a few ago. Kai reached into a pocket in the jacket that she wore despite the warm weather and clutched a small, soft, neon green ball in her right hand and she stood up. In less than an instant the entire table was standing and waiting for someone to make a move that would start the fight.

"I am just trying to do my civic duty and save little Sanderson a life of confusion and ridicule that undoubtedly comes from being near your lot." He cast a venomous glare at John, who remained still and stoic.

"Get bent." Stray hissed. There was a general snarl from the Russian's side of the invisible line that had been drawn and the 141 tensed and growled in return. The bell rang, and no one moved. Vladimir would undoubtedly have Zakhaev cover for himself and his cronies, just as John's crew would be aided by Price when they showed up tardy to first period.

"Let's all do ourselves a favor and finish this at another time." Chemo said coolly. Trust him to talk everyone out of a brawl.

"Life with them will not be easy for you." Vladimir warned Gary. The American told him to go fuck himself. Makarov seemed to take that as a personal challenge and flashed a dangerous smile his way before muttering something in Russian and walking towards the front door.

"Well that's no kind of good." Talon muttered. She rolled the little neon ball between her fingers and a razor blade, carefully jammed into the foam, swung up, catching the light at the very point of the blade. She set about fiddling with her nails using the razor as a tool.

"He'll be coming after you with a vengeance, you know." Alex almost whispered to his new friend.

"Fuck 'im." Gary shrugged. His eyes were the only part of him that betrayed his cool and nonchalant demeanor; they spoke of an almost irrational determination to fight back.

The two weeks and the following Monday and Tuesday passed without incident. Wednesday was a different matter. Gary had stayed a little after school to cover a math assignment with Stray and had promised the infectiously happy boy a ride home. They were almost to the dented little Honda Sanderson affectionately called "Elaine" when something caused black spots to dance in front of his vision. He whipped around and was unsurprised to see Ivan and Yuri, Vladimir's dearest delivery boys, on the offensive. He ignored the throbbing in the back of his head and swung back. He heard yelping and curses from his left, but he trusted Stray to be able to take care of himself. The fight was actually going in his favor until a swift kick to his already damaged ribs made him choke on a scream and made his knees buckle. He staggered backwards, away from his attacker, until his back hit his car. He held his side tightly and took a shaky breath to even himself out before he pushed himself upright and lashed out again. He smiled when he _heard_ his knuckles connect with Yuri's jaw.

"Come on!" He yelled. The adrenaline had hit his system and there was no turning back now. His pain was dulled and his heart was racing, thudding erratically against his chest. Yuri stood upright, and the red splotch blossoming across the side of the Russian's face gave him immeasurable satisfaction and he readied himself for another attack. He heard a particularly pained cry from Alex and couldn't help a glance in that direction. He never got to see how his friend was faring; Yuri had hit him and wouldn't stop. He dropped instinctively and curled in on himself, trying to guard his head and damaged ribs from the onslaught. Yuri paused for a moment to yell at what he was sure was a vanquished foe and Sanderson struggled to his feet. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and from his nose. He wiped absently at his face with the back of his hand and he glared at the Russian.

"I can do this all fucking day. You want to know why I left the last place I lived? So the cops couldn't pin the murder on me. I'm not afraid to kill again." He growled.

Yuri tried to find a lie in his eyes, but found none. He whistled sharply before walking away and Ivan followed him closely. Sanderson turned to Kennedy and saw the Irishman dabbing at a split lip. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his friend had fared better than he hoped. Unfortunately, the sigh made him acutely aware of how much it really felt like there was broken glass in his lungs. He coughed violently as his breath hitched unexpectedly. Every subsequent cough hurt him a little more than the previous and he found his throat raw and aching. Alex cursed and helped his American friend up and into the passenger's seat of the car. He turned the ignition over and started driving.

"Where are we headed?" Gary asked with a wince.

"My house. It's closer and Talon should still be there working on her joint sociology project with Ghost. She can patch you up better than most people and she won't ask as many questions."

"What about your parents? They won't freak out?" Gary wiped at his nose again and cringed when it still came away bloody.

"They both work. Simon and I take care of each other while they're gone. Always have. We'll have you cleaned up before they have time to freak out and try to smother you with overly affectionate ways." Kennedy teased. Gary forced a smile and he knew he must've been a bloody mess. Alex looked worse for the wear and he hadn't been beaten as brutally as Gary himself had been.

"So how's your ma gonna react when we cart you home covered in blood and bruises?" Alex asked tensely.

"Probably the same way she reacted last time. She's going to get all concerned, make sure I'm patched up, and ask me what happened. Mom and I have a strange relationship. I've always done my own thing and she's always respected that. I'm a good kid, I just need my space." Sanderson shrugged and then winced immediately after the action.

"You sound like Chemo." Stray laughed.

"Okay. Really. What's up with the nicknames?"

"Well... John's a bit of a neat-freak; he cleans everything, makes sure all of his stuff is in order... He's had his car for two years now and I swear it still has new car smell. Always had soap in his hands. So it stuck.

"Simon's always been the stealthy one. One second he's there, the next he isn't and you've got no clear where he went. He could walk through an empty concert hall with tap shoes on and you'd never hear him. Like a ghost.

"I'm sure you've figured out why they call me Stray. Simon was my best friend when... Well let's just say shit happened and I was damn close to being pushed into foster care when his parents took me in. Simon called me his 'stray brother', and it stuck.

"Chemo's a little easier to explain. When you have cancer, you go through chemotherapy to kill it all off. But if you don't keep it in check, it kills just as much good as bad. His temper's the same way. That's why Simon threatened to tell Rich what Makarov said about his cousin, to piss him off enough to snap. He doesn't look it, but he can fight better than just about anyone else I know.

"Talon... Well, Kai can use a blade like it's attached to her, no matter what kind it is. Like a talon, like an extension of herself." Alex smiled.

Stray parked the car and helped Gary limp up to the door.

"Kai! Kai are you here?" He yelled.

Almost instantly her footsteps could be heard coming down the steps.

"What happened?" She demanded. Simon appeared silently behind her, surveying the damage done to his brother and his brother's crush.

"Yuri the bear and Ivan the gorilla. Can we get him upstairs and bandaged up or do you want to explain to Ma why there's blood on her carpet?" Alex snapped.

"Fuck dude. Sorry." Gary wiped at his face again.

"Don't listen to him being a prat. Come on." Simon beckoned the American boy to follow him up the stairs.

He leaned rather heavily on Stray as he limped up the stairs with the occasional wince and groan. They set him on the edge of the bathtub and he rather reluctantly removed his arm from around Alex's shoulders.

"Shirt off," Kai said to Gary before turning to stray and ordering, "Ace wraps, gauze pads, medical tape, betadine, bandages and a flashlight, preferably with LED lights."

Sanderson winced as he pulled his shirt over his head. Talon removed the disheveled bandages that he had wrapped tightly around his torso. She sucked a hissing breath through her teeth at the vivid purple that stained his skin.

"You're gonna hate me for this." She warned.

"Unlikely. Takes more than a little ache to kill me." He winked playfully despite his rapidly swelling eye.

Kai shrugged and began pressing on his ribs, checking for breaks. It didn't hurt Gary anymore than he was used to, though he winced on occasion.

"Feels like four cracks, but nothing cleanly broken..."

Alex returned with the required supplies and handed them to Kai. Her first order of business was to bandage up his ribs to restrict his movement as much as possible to avoid aggravating the cracks in the future. She then clicked on the light and flashed his eyes, checking his pupil response times.

"Little sluggish... They hit you in the head, didn't they?" She sighed.

"First hit was to the back of the dome-piece." Gary nodded.

Kai muttered under her breath and set about cleaning and patching up his various scrapes and cuts.

"I gotta hand it to you, you're tough as hell, kid." She smiled.

"Practically immortal." He smirked.

"Like a cockroach, completely unstoppable, no matter the ass-kicking..."

"Damn straight."

"Hm... Well, I promised Vale I'd meet him for dinner tonight, so I'm expected to go home and do my hair and shit... Ghost, don't forget to finish writing up those index cards for the report. Stray, keep an eye on our new patient. Roach, it's up to you to try and avoid the fights until you heal up some." Talon turned quickly and was down the stairs before Gary realized he'd been given a nickname.

The musing was interrupted by Sanderson's cell phone ringing.

"Hello? Hi, Mom. No, things are fine. I got a little side-tracked when I was taking Alex home. Yeah, I did. Mom, I'm fine. Ricky's girlfriend's here, and she's a med student. No. Doesn't feel like it. I'll be okay. Yeah. Well, actually, I'm not sure. I'll let you know how it pans out. Okay. Yeah. Love you too, Mom. Bye." He shoved the phone back into his pocket with an almost silent sigh.

Stray knelt in front of him with a damp washcloth in his hand and set about wiping the dried blood away from his friend's face. He was very steadfastly avoiding Roach's eyes and he was blushing lightly. Sanderson watched him closely, trying to silently will Kennedy to make eye contact. When that didn't work, his hand curled around Alex's wrist.

"Thank you." He murmured.

"It's... No big deal. Really." His blush heightened and he shrugged again. He tried moving away, but the grip tightened.

"I mean it."

"So do I." Alex finally gave the newly-dubbed Roach the eye contact he was waiting for.

Gary smiled, a soft quirking of his lips that that was charming despite his battered state. Kennedy smiled as well, albeit nervously, and he licked at his own blood-stained lips. Roach jerked on the wrist in his grasp and Stray fell forward and into the injured American on the edge of his bathtub. The pain of an abrupt contact with his bruises was negligible and Gary wasted no time pressing his lips to Stray's. He meant it to be a quick, there-and-gone contact, but he found enthusiastic hands tangled in his hair and they ended up toppled over in the bathtub. Gary hissed at the sudden pressure on his cracked ribs and the jolt of landing on the unforgiving surface under him.

"Shit, fuck. Sorry, sorry." Alex was quickly gone and helping him up, babbling nonsense about being over-zealous. Roach slammed him against the wall and kissed him again, his tongue licking at the foreign lips, waiting for permission to slide beyond the seam. Stray obliged him. They were both fighters, both used to the taste of blood, and neither cringed away from it.

"Well isn't this cute." Ghost cooed teasingly. Roach pulled away with a low growl that made even Simon pause.

"You mind taking your comments elsewhere?" Gary challenged. He glanced over his shoulder and fixed the Brit with a cool glare.

"You mind vacating the bathroom to snog?" Riley returned.

Gary turned away from the blushing Alex long enough to grab his shirt off the edge of the sink before he grabbed Kennedy's wrist again. He muttered something at Simon in what sounded German. Simon laughed and playfully flicked the tip of his nose. Stray yelled something in Gaelic and Ghost disappeared inside the bathroom with another laugh.

"Come on." Alex murmured. He laced his fingers with Gary's and led him down the hall to a bedroom painted in various shades of blue. The walls were almost more band, movie and video game posters than paint. There was a slightly cluttered desk, a bed, a guitar in the corner, a small entertainment unit housing a television and DVD player... It was lived-in, comfortable, homey.

"Can I ask you a stupid question?" Kennedy asked almost nervously from the doorway.

"Sure." Gary shrugged.

"Why'd you kiss me?"

"Because I like you. I'm pretty sure that would've been obvious by this point."

Stray just muttered to himself in Gaelic before shaking his head.

"So, what? You want a relationship now?" He eventually asked.

"Well that was the original plan. Of course if you're not interested I could-"

"No! No. I mean, I'm interested, sure. But if Vladimir catches wind of a relationship between the two of us, things are only going to get worse for you." Alex frowned.

"So?"

"What?"

"Alex, I'm not scared of them. I will fight them until one of us ends up dead if that's what it takes. I'm not backing down. And I'm sure as hell not going to give you up because they're idiots."

"You've known me for less than a month. Are you sure you want to deal with what comes down the line from Makarov over a spastic Irish boy that you hardly know?"

"I know that I'm willing to fight for the chance to get to know you. In every way possible." His final four words were a seductive purr that demanded attention and wrought a shudder from Alex. Stray seemed torn for a moment, but he soon made up his mind and strode towards Gary and kissed him again.

A smug, "Told ya so", came from the doorway and and Stray jumped away from Roach to glare at his brother and his brother's lover. Sanderson again regarded them coolly.

"Boys! Who've you invited over this time? I don't recognize the black Honda." A female voice floated up the stairs. No one said anything for a moment.

"Simon James Riley, Alexander Liam Kennedy, Jonathan Andrew MacTavish and the guest! Downstairs! The lot of you!"

There was no hesitation this time, and the four of them trudged down the stairs into the living room where Gary recognized the frowning face of Molly Riley.

"Hi Mrs. Riley." He waved.

"Gary Sanderson? What's happened to you? You boys didn't hurt him did you? Oh I swear..." She hurried over to the injured American and began fussing over his injuries.

"I'm fine Mrs. Riley. Just had a bit of a misunderstanding with some kids at school." He shrugged.

"Does your mother know you're here?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Is that your car in the driveway? I wish I'd known you were coming over."

"Expect to be seeing him a lot more, Mum. Stray's got himself a boyfriend." Ghost teased.

"Piss off, will ya? You've got a boyfriend too." Alex snapped.

"Alex, language! Simon, play nice. I'm assuming John's staying for dinner. What about you, Gary?"

"I'd hate to be a burden, Mrs. Riley-" Roach was cut off.

"Nonsense! I'll invite your mum over too! We'll just make it a family affair."

"I don't suppose I can complain about that, ma'am."

"Oh, look at how polite! You boys could learn something from Gary Sanderson." She huffed at her sons and John.

"David." He murmured.

"Beg pardon?" Mrs. Riley seemed taken aback.

"My middle name is David, in case you ever need to use my full name." He smiled.

Molly smiled again and bustled off to the kitchen to call Andrea Sanderson and tell her how well-mannered her only son was.

"You are such a bloody kiss-ass." Simon smirked.

"Jealous that your mom likes me more than you?" Roach teased in return.

"Lord no. This means that while she's distracted with you, I can sneak off whenever I choose."

As if to prove a point, Simon turned and walked back up the stairs, a chuckling John trailing after him. Gary smiled deviously and advanced on Alex, who predictably backed up until he was pinned between Roach and the wall. Sanderson kissed him quickly, nipping at Stray's lower lip playfully.

"You know it's only a matter of time before Vlad finds out about this. And once he does, he's going to try harder to hurt you." Alex murmured.

"Well he'll just have to get over himself, because I'm not going anywhere. No matter what he comes up with."

Stray couldn't stop his smile. Like Chemo had said, balls past his knees, and that was something he could admire in a man.


	31. HOPE

**A/N:** Well, here it is. HOPE. This isn't really defined in the way you would think, and this is more of a look at how our favorite Brit keeps his cool when things are going terribly, terribly wrong. Really pretty light on the slash, but that's just the lay of things.

**ItestedGarus'Reach:** I hide in the bathrooms when I get an update at work too, so don't feel bad. :P I've actually been planning on expanding the high school scenario, and once I do, you'll realize that where Kira is like a mother-hen who's still your best friend, Talon is more like that older sister that beats your ass so you know what it feels like so it doesn't take you by surprise when you get into your first fist-fight. XD

**xStealthxSniperx:** The interactions were surprisingly easy for me to write because a lot of it is based on personal experience. And I like to imagine how all the guys got their call-signs, because, well, let's face it. There's gotta be some kind of story behind it. :)

**GranBoy:** The school was based American because I've never been anywhere else. XD I just like to take the preemptive because there's always someone who's gotta comment on how "unrealistic" it is. The 'as gaelige' was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was listening to Slacker Radio and "Dulaman" by Altan came on and I was like, "Why the hell not. I'm writing them as brothers. They need their own 'secret' way of communicating, and Stray's Irish." P: Congrats on your Irish exams! Yeah. I like making Makarov the bad guy, because everyone needs someone to hate, and he's already their bad guy. :P Stephen King is just a really entertaining guy. He's sarcastic and kinda mean, which makes everything hilarious.

**xGhostxStealth:** I tried to keep them in touch with the whole "bad-ass" thing, just toned down a bit because they're still teenagers. I really enjoyed making Roach kinda paranoid-cautious and sarcastic. Because when you move to a town and you get your ass kicked just 'cause, that's gonna make you hella salty. :P Yes, the high school thing will inevitably continue, and I've figured out ways to work in everyone's favorite characters. ;D

**Strude:** See, I love taking topics that may or may not crash and burn and making them fucking epic. Because it inflates my ego like you wouldn't believe. XD Glad it turned out so well.

**Reeserella:** Yes, more high school in the works, post Seven Holy Virtues. You diabolical fiend! Stealing my ideas? Never! I will not tolerate! Lol jk. The idea of putting them in high school is just kinda there for you to take, but if you use Kai and Alex, I'd just like a heads-up and credit for their creation. :)

**Beyond-Society:** I don't look at it as nit-picking dear. To be honest, when I initially started writing this series of oneshots, I hadn't quite done all my reading up on Ghost's description, and was kinda winging it, hence the reason he had black hair and green eyes for the first few chapters. Official description stands at brown hair and blue eyes (thank you, Wikia...) The names of the background characters like Archer and Royce and Meat and Worm will change, because I don't write them very often and, as many of these can be read as stand-alone stories, I don't really find it necessary to write the characters the exact same way every time. It offers a little more room for creative license, if that makes sense? (Yeah. I'm really tired and writing this at work XD). But anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying the stories, and if you notice anything else you feel the need to mention, let me know. :)

* * *

In the field, there is never enough cover. I crouch behind a low brick wall and listen to the thudding of bullets as they bury themselves in the bricks and I contemplate my next move. To my right, Roach is very calmly taking inventory of his ammunition and he looks to me for further orders. I motion to him that we need to move up and he nods. We break from cover, firing at the few enemies in our way, running towards more cover and our way out of here. We duck into a small restaurant and take a few moments to regroup behind the counter.

"How's your ammo holding, Sergeant?" I ask, more to check his mental state than his ammunition.

"Fine for now, Lieutenant. You reckon the helo'll be there?" Gary asks, similarly to just check my reaction.

"No indication that it won't be." I murmur.

We slip back out into the street and force our way through barricades and terrified militia men. It takes us nearly two hours to clear a single kilometer and we're both frustrated, irritated, low on ammunition, and approaching exhaustion. But we are still several kilometers from our destination and we know that much of that ground will be infested with the enemy. We are not working fast enough to make our rendezvous time at the landing zone.

"India Two, what's your status, over?"

The coms crackle and I growl under my breath. There are bullets flying in our direction and I don't have time to handle this bullshit. Roach covers me and my hand moves from my weapon to my throat-mic.

"This is India Two. Engaging multiple enemy targets, over."

There's a pause and I return both hands to my weapon and begin shooting at the troublesome tangos on the other side of our cover.

"Ghost, this is Archangel, do you read?"

I recognize the voice. Archangel is a pilot we've worked with before; a cool-headed woman who knows a thousand different ways to blow an enemy aircraft out of the sky mid-flight using only a crescent wrench and a string of Christmas lights.

"I read you, Archangel." I grunt. I'm a little too occupied to bother with a formal response, and she knows that.

"I got word from command that you're in a bit of a patch." She almost laughs.

"Always am."

"How far from the El-Zed?"

I check my coordinates before informing her that we're still five kilometers from the exfil-point.

"Do you have an ETA on arrival?"

"At the rate we're going? Another few hours."

"That time frame is no good. Rendezvous will need to be adjusted accordingly. New exfil point will be safe house Whiskey-Echo. Be there by 2300 hours local time."

"Solid copy, Archangel. Ghost, out."

"We've got a long walk to Whiskey-Echo." Roach grimaced.

"We'll make it."

My muscles ache and burn as we continue pushing through wave after wave of enemy forces. We are low on ammunition and grenades and we scavenge whatever we can from the corpses of our fallen enemies as we press on. I'm eventually forced to discard my assault rifle and lift an AK from a corpse and I mourn the loss of my favorite weapon for a few moments.

"Christ!" Roach ducks behind a rusted pickup truck as gunfire starts from the building at the end of the street. I take cover on the opposite side of the street.

"Can you tell where it's coming from?" I ask.

"No fucking idea, Ell-tee!"

I make a dash over to his side of the street and share cover with him. We crash through the front door of a tiny shack passing for a home and we run out the other side, hoping to have found a blind spot. I see a trench with a trickle of water leading up under a bridge before continuing along our path that should offer us an opportunity to slip past the enemies in the building. I tell Roach as much and we slip and slide through the thick, barely-there mud and fall into the ditch. Our boots leave behind clear imprints as we run, keeping our heads down as we go. There is no indication the enemy has seen us, and it's something I'm thankful for.

"How long you think our luck's gonna hold out?" Roach asks. His breathing is growing ragged and I know we're going to have to stop soon, if only for a drink and a quick reload and inventory check. I know that he won't say anything about it, and it's something I can respect.

"It'll hold as long as we need." I shrug.

We continue moving forward towards safe-house Whiskey Echo, and our time does not improve by much. There is heavy resistance as we go, and we're scraped, bruised, battered. We duck behind a small tool shed made of scrap metal and held together by prayer, and then our luck wavers.

"Sweet fucking Tchaikovsky!" Roach yells. His hand clamps around his arm as he tries to control his bleeding. I look it over quickly and tell him that the bullet just grazed him, but it will likely need stitches. It takes a flash grenade and a few lucky shots, and we are a meters closer to our goal.

We soon find ourselves hiding in another poor excuse for a home and the gunfire is coming from all sides. There is no back door for us to use, and we don't have enough ammunition to waste it firing blindly. The gauze around Gary's left arm is tinted red and he's favoring it as he moves and fires. He's beginning to worry that we won't make it out.

"Ghost, I got a question for you." He murmurs as he looks out the small window cut into the front of what might as well be wet cardboard for all the protection it offers.

"Ask away, Sergeant."

"How the fuck are you so calm? I mean, I understand you've been at this a while, but fucking-a..." He glances back over his shoulder at me and a smile behind my balaclava.

"Do you know what the definition of hope is, Roach?"

"Yeah. It's like a wish made on faith."

"Hoping is defined as expecting with confidence, or to desire with expectation of obtainment. We've pushed through three kilometers of enemies with virtually no ammo and less cover, and the worst we've suffered is a graze. Think that's reason enough for us to 'expect with confidence' that we can make it to Whiskey Echo and bide our time until Archangel arrives."

He shrugs again and he detaches one of his last grenades from the front of his vest. He pulls the pin, holds the metal death-ball for a moment, and tosses it out the window in the direction of the most dense gunfire. There is an explosion and the shots stop for a few moments. When they begin again, they are coming from only one direction. I give the order to break from cover and Sanderson does it with a general air of nervousness.

The resistance is surprisingly light as we continue our push through, and it looks like we're reaching the outer edges of the militia's influence and have passed beyond even their patrols. I can tell by the way Gary's gait is more of a stride and less of a limp that he's beginning to have that hope of making it to the extraction point with no more issue or injury.

We are battered, bleeding, wounded, winded, exhausted and ready to collapse when we finally make it to the small farmhouse designated Whiskey Echo, and we are finally clear of the stronger arms of the militia. We barricade the doors and windows and set up antipersonnel mines wherever we believe they may be needed and we take a few moments to catch our breath.

"So what's got you hoping we make it out of here so bad?" He asks me.

"Last drink I had was a cheap, lukewarm beer. I don't want that to be the last alcohol I ever taste." I tease.

"Haha. I'm being serious."

"Soap."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but I know better than to think he's confused about why a cleaning product could give me hope.

"You two..." He shakes his head.

"What about us?"

"You're both fucking psycho." He grins. I don't take offense to the comment. Sanderson is not someone adept at putting his thoughts into words. For a while, I assumed he was just a little slower than most. But after flipping through his dossier with John, the opposite proved to be true.

"So how is it a genius like you can't define 'hope'?" I'm not necessarily in the mood for small-talk, but we need to do something to stay awake and alert.

"How is it a cynic like you can still believe in it?"

I laugh and shake my head, knowing there isn't much of a comeback for that. He smiles along with me and the conversation falls into a lull.

"So your hope of seeing MacTavish again is the reason you didn't flinch away from anything that happened to us?"

"Believing confidently. You're still looking at hope as, how'd you say it? A wish made on faith? It's confident belief, Sergeant. I believe, with confidence, that I'm going to drag my sorry carcass home and drink gin and watch television with John as soon as we can get ourselves our of here."

He thinks for a moment and I know he's going to say something blindingly brilliant, as he's prone to doing around people he trusts.

"You know, the definition you use makes sense, given the word's traditional usage. But there's still that ideological connotation attached to it. So, technically, it's society's fault I keep thinking of it as a wish made on faith."

He's entertaining, in an enigmatic, shocking kind of way. During the heat of a mission, he almost refuses to speak unless it's deemed absolutely necessary, and around those he doesn't know or trust, he's similarly silent. So when he grows comfortable with the people and the situation, he reveals just how quick-witted he is, often taking people by surprise.

"What about you, Roach? What's got you running through this backwater country so fearlessly?"

"Hope. Same as you I suppose. Well, except it's not the Captain I'm looking forward to." He smirks.

I don't get a chance to answer or question him.

"Ghost, this is Archangel. I need you to ring in with a SitRep, over."

"Archangel, this is Ghost. We're at location Whiskey Echo and awaiting exfil."

"Is the El-zed cleared for landing?"

"El-zed is clear for landing."

"ETA is five Marks."

"Solid copy, Archangel. Ghost, out."

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt and we're both listening for the sound of the approaching helo. What we hear is nowhere near as comforting.

"Awh, shit... Ghost, we got a fuckin' problem."

I look out the window and see a truck stop in the driveway. Men armed with assault rifles exit the front, and men with heavier weaponry drop from the rear. They drag something writhing and squirming from the truck and by the cries, I can tell it's a woman.

"Mother fuckers..."

I glance over to Sanderson and I can see he's tense. He has no qualms of taking or ruining a life, as long as it's not an innocent one.

"Stay frosty, Sergeant." I warn.

"If they come in here, there's no fuckin' frosty about it."

I ignore his comment and reach for my mic.

"Archangel, standby. We have hostiles in the El-zed, unsure of what they're packing, over."

"Clear it quick, Ghost. I've got extra fuel, but not that much."

The knob turns, the door swings inward. The woman is shoved in first, her clothes dirty, blood-stained, torn. She falls to the ground and tries crawling away from the men on the porch, and she freezes when she sees Roach stand. Lifting a stolen SPAS-12, he fires a single shot, point-blank, into the chest of the man who shoved her. There is a moment of stunned silence from outside and he kicks the door closed. Gary grabs the woman and pushes her into the kitchen, telling her to stay low. Gunfire erupts from outside and I drop to cover.

"What the fuck was that, Sergeant?" I demand.

"They were on their way in here already. At least now we're not stuck in a goddamn firefight, out numbered and enclosed!" He yelled in response.

I make a mental note to argue that with him later. I rush over to the door and rig an antipersonnel mine and order Roach to take the woman upstairs and find a vantage point. He coaxes her up the rickety stairs and I set another mine at the base, carefully stepping over the tripwire. Our escape is going to be very tricky.

The woman is at the far end of the upstairs, cowering in a dingy-looking tub and sobbing. Roach is in one of the bedrooms, scouting out the men who are shouting things at the broken windows downstairs.

"Ten total. Two are on their way up to the front door, likely to check and see if we're dead. Mostly AKs, looks like a few have shotguns, at least one Thumper..." He growls.

"Hn."

"Still got hope that we're gonna make it out of here with no more problems?" He almost sounds cynical as he asks.

"Plenty."

I pick up my ACR and take steady aim at a cluster of men near the bonnet of the lorry and wait. The house shakes as an explosion sounds from downstairs, and I begin firing. I, unlike most men put in a situation of command and control, do not tell the Sergeant when to go weapons free or when to fire. We have received the same training and he is every bit as adept at this as I am. I trust his judgment and abilities. The men on the ground begin realizing they're being fired on from above and they change their tactics. A stray bullet cracks into my Kevlar, sending me back a step. I growl at the pain and retake my position.

Another explosion from the ground floor, this time closer. Roach sneers at the advancement and takes grabs one of my grenades, pulling the pin as he runs into the hallway. He throws it down the staircase and screeches and screams greet its landing before there is an explosion and everything falls silent. Gary remains in the hallway, aiming at the landing, waiting for signs of advancement. I remain looking out the window. We wait for several long minutes before I meet him in the hall and motion that he should advance, and I'll offer cover. He doesn't bristle at the notion of taking point, doesn't protest or give any indication that he cares. We hear no footsteps, no reloading, only the faint moans of the wounded and the sobbing coming from the bathroom.

Roach moves slowly down the stairs, "eyes first", ensuring there is not an ambush waiting. The few men still clinging to life on the floor in the main room are dispatched and I check the exterior of the farm-house. All the men we had counted were accounted for and appropriately dead.

"Archangel, this is Ghost. El-zed is clear, but make it quick. We don't know if they had friends on the way."

"En route, Lieutenant. Two marks."

I go back upstairs and find Sanderson coaxing the woman out of the bathroom and telling her that she needs to go home. She seems simultaneously grateful and terrified, but nevertheless made her way from the house as she was told. We follow her down. There is a sharp crack, a sharp pain, and I stumble. Roach yells something and he shoots at the one man we missed.

"You alright, Riley?" He asks. I nod, even though I know that's not completely true. What are the odds that a dying man's blind shot would hit the exact place where a frantic man's bullet was already lodged in the Kevlar?

"Drag what's left of the sofa in front of the door. We don't have much of a wait time, but we don't know if these bastards have more friends coming to meet them." I pull open my jacket as I speak, jerking the Kevlar vest over my head. Sanderson digs around in his pack for a moment before bringing out a medical field kit. He rummages around in the relatively shallow wound for a few minutes until he can wrap the forceps around the bullet well enough to pull the jagged bit of metal out of my chest. He hands me a square of gauze and reaches for the medical tape. I tape the gauze over the wound and redress quickly; we can both hear the telltale sounds of a helo rapidly approaching.

"India Two, exfil's arrived." Archangel calls over the comms.

Roach kicks the sofa out of the doorway and we move quickly towards our exit ticket. As Angel smoothly guides the bird up above the tree-line and away from enemy territory, I believe, with more confidence than before, that John will be at home with a bottle of gin and a cheap science fiction film when I finally make it back.


	32. JUSTICE

**A/N:** JUSTICE. This one has a teensy little spoiler from Black Ops. No real specifics, just a little nod to a cutscene from one of my favorite levels. Kind of a different take for this chapter. Hope you guys can at least tolerate this one, because I am a bloody train wreck at the moment. During the week I'm working later and later, and I'm working on the weekends now, pounding out contracts and corresponding with the accountants to get the taxes fixed and all that bollocks. Oh, and I'm snowed in. -_-;

**Leen141:** I'm glad you're enjoying them. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** Ah. Dialogue is so much fun, especially when the characters are snarky like they were in the last chapter. :P

**Jackie:** There are so many habits I still have from ROTC, mostly walking in step and how I do my paperwork, haha. Yeah, I've encountered a few hot recruiters. And the hotter they are, the longer I listen to them try to coerce me into the military life, haha. I'm glad you like them so much, dear.

**Reeserella:** Yeah, fluff. :3 I've been writing fluff all over the place lately. But you guys seem to enjoy it, so no wukkas, right? :D

**Canto34:** First, there is nothing wrong with liking Five Finger Death Punch. I used to play their sounds as loud as I could while vacuuming the office. :P Yes, sometimes chapter relations are scary accurate. o_o But I'm glad you're liking them and glad you're back. :D

* * *

Justice. Noun. The conformity to the principle or ideal of right action; conformity to truth, fact, or reason.

There are days when that definition runs like a mantra through my head, 'principle of right action', 'fact, truth, reason'. Because otherwise, I think I'd lose my mind. I think we all would if we didn't have something resembling virtue on our side.

It's cold as we step outside, cold enough to steal our breath as we step out into the frigidity. If there were moisture in the air, it would be either frost or snow. But the air is dry and breathing is almost painful. We are doing a security detail through a small town as part of our cover-story as attaches to an existing military unit who perform the same duties. I walk silently next to Ghost, the frost-brittle grass and Earth crunching under our boots as we step. I fight a shudder off and focus on my surroundings. Roach walks behind us, humming something under his breath to keep the insanity at bay. When you're on the verge of insanity so long, you begin to wonder what the fuck you're doing out here, what the fuck it is you're fighting for. Because after a while, you just get fed up with the situations you're stuck in, and any chance to lash out becomes fair game if you let the insanity get to you.

"Principle of right action", justice. We fight for that justice, for the principle of right action, and for people who can never know we were in their country. I'd heard stories from Price about men like us going crazy. Worm told me about an uncle of his that fought in the Vietnam War in the 60s, said he worked black-out operations for MACV as part of a SOG unit. Said his uncle's team was captured and taken in by the Viet Cong and that was when he broke, playing a waiting game in a rat cage while Spetznaz and VC made captured GI's play Russian Roulette across the table from their friends. Years of top-secret missions and running around in the dark, and he lost his mind over the course of a few days. The other living members of his team were calm, but he was not. Sometimes I wonder when that'll happen to one of us.

I brought that up to Simon once. He just looked at me for a minute and chuckled. He said it was just another work hazard and that we'd have to come to terms with the fact that, one day, one of us would end up captured and tortured and crazy. Of course, based on our training, experience and past missions it was, from a statistic point of view, nearly a negligible odd to bother concerning ourselves with. He then told me that we know what it is we're fighting for. All of our time isn't being spent in a single country fighting for the democracy of a people who would just as soon kill us as thank us for their new right to vote. Our missions were a little more short-term, so we didn't have a chance to begin feeling hopeless and helpless about the situation.

I glance to my right and see Ghost kicking at the brittle, frozen shoots of small plants struggling to survive in the tundra we're occupying. We're all bored to death and biding our time until we can be sent somewhere a little more hospitable. "Fact, Truth, Reason." That is why we're here, stuck in the middle of nowhere and freezing to death. The only enemies we've encountered so far are frostbite and boredom, but we press on for reasons we hate understanding.

Mutiny is easy as long as you can convince yourself that you can do a better job at doing what no one else wants to do, and as long as you're convinced that they're doing what no one else wants to do in the worst possible way it could be done. Heavy lies the crown, something too many people seem to forget far to often. We have been outside for only half an hour and I'm already missing the warmth of my rack, regretting the wasted time spent out here. The people are only aware of our presence because they see us daily. There are no problems for us to tend to or report. And yet still we are here. I flex my fingers, trying to keep them from getting too stiff. Why is our presence necessary here? Did we set up a base on one side because the enemy set one up on the other side?

Simon's shoulder hits mine and I tear my eyes away from the endless expanse of snow and look at him. The goggles are tinted light enough so that I can just make out his eyes and the almost nonexistent flicker of concern passing through them. For someone as emotionally detached as Riley, I know I've been really worrying him for any kind of emotion to show in the field. I shake my head and murmur that we'll discuss it later. He nods and I know there will be no avoiding the conversation in the future.

The moment we're back on base, Roach drapes himself comfortably over one of the couches in the rec room and settles in to watch some kind of sporting event on the television. I head to the room I was assigned to share with Riley, and sit down the moment I reach my rack and I begin pulling my heavy outerwear off, shedding the gloves and the thick parka. I lay back and stare up at the white ceiling and listen to the sound of Simon taking off his own thick clothing. I wait until I hear him settle in on his own rack to speak.

"What the fuck are we doing out here, Lieutenant? Why aren't we a thousand miles away waitin' for a new gunshot wound?" I ask.

"How long've you been doing this and _you're_ asking _me_ these 'meaning of life' questions?" He teases. I don't say anything for a few minutes. I know he means nothing by it and he's trying to piece together a response of some kind.

"If you think about it, the combat-hot zones aren't always the ones we need to be concerned with. In fact, they're the ones we should be the farthest away from. Combat-hot zones are the ones with all the bloody press coverage, so every person looking for good Karma is gonna mount some "Institute Democracy in Country X" campaign that amounts to bollocks but makes everyone feel so much better about themselves. But these people here are living in the backwash of a world moving on without them and their right to have as many amenities and freedoms as anyone else is just as impeded as those combat shit-holes we're always longing for when the boredom sets in."

I wait for him to continue. I know he isn't done talking yet.

"When I signed up for this shite, I signed up to do some justice in the world. That and because anywhere I can make a living blowing things up and jumping out of planes on the regular is perfect for me. Beside the point. The world is a fucked up place, and that's just the lay of things. You said yourself that justice is just the conformity to fact, truth, and reason. Fact is, these people are being extorted and forced to live in poverty for no bloody reason. The truth is that we're here instead of out there because they can't afford the media finding out about a fight on _another_ front, but these people need help. So, reasonably, _logically_, we're the only people to fight for them. Because we've never been anywhere, have we? This post is just here to "protect interests", not to fight for the people. But we can go in and fight for them and no one will be the wiser, because the regulars posted here do their half-assed patrols and that's the end of things, and we were never here."

I contemplate his words for a few minutes and close my eyes. To hear it explained in those terms, I feel like a fool for not thinking of that sooner.

"You aren't beating yourself up for being so dense, are you?" He laughs.

"And assuming I am?" My eyes remain closed, though I smile when I hear him lock the door, and the smile becomes a grin when he straddles my hips.

"Stop convincing yourself we're being useless if we're not in imminent danger of death and maiming." He smiles. I open my eyes and look up at him.

"So stopping the crazy is as easy as making the situation fit fact, truth, and reason, eh?" I ask.

"No. But it sure as hell helps to remind yourself that you're on the right side of things. We're doing these people justice. We're in the right, and we're doing what's right, even if it seems tiny."

He's long since removed the goggles and balaclava and there's a hint of a smile on his lips. I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him. The rest of these paradoxical philosophies can wait until later to be discussed. Besides, the fact is that I'm developing a "problem", which isn't surprising, given our situation, and the truth is that someone needs to take care of it, and reason dictates I turn to my lover for such resolutions. Yes, I will be doing Simon plenty of "justice" tonight.


	33. PRUDENCE

**A/N:** PRUDENCE. You'll have to forgive my delays, and they'll probably persist for some time now... My parents brought a new puppy home and since I can't afford to move out, I have to help train the terror. They also bought a pool table, and billiards is my game. :3 PRUDENCE: The skill or good judgment in the use of resources; Caution or circumspection as to danger or risk.

**Arhani "Hanny" Daforcena:** Yes, trust Ghost to make it all better. It's his job, after all, to make sure Soap keeps it together. ;D

**ItestedGarus'Reach:** I wanted to do Air Force when I was a kid. I wanted to be a fighter pilot. That dream just kinda didn't stick with me when I grew up. D: I'm glad I made your night and it's nice to see I'm somehow keeping you sane, despite being more than a little crazy myself. XD

**Leen141:** Their line of work definitely makes them question what they're doing. It's bound to happen eventually. And when someone is watching your back for you, helping you with everything, you learn to trust them, to go to them for more than just work. Glad the update was everything you'd hoped for. :)

**xGhostxStealth:** To be honest, those are the kinds of questions I think _everyone_ asks themselves at one point or another. "Is this _really_ right" and all. Unfortunately, those kinds of questions can really make you "lose touch", get really wrapped up in them. And I like to think that Ghost is there to kinda slap him around a bit and tell him to stop moping. XD

**WillowRavenBloodstone:** I used to have a solid updating schedule. Like three years ago when I only had one open fandom and a ton of free time. XD I'm glad you're enjoying the fics, and, to be honest, as long as I have a brother or friend in the military, I'll have plenty of inspiration. And did I mention it looks like the ones that are in/entering are going to make the military a career? Yeah. We've deffo got some time. :P

**Reeserella:** I think the quiet ones are the best ones. Because not only is there not the pressure of the press, you don't have to worry about shitty public opinion and all that, you know? :)

**xStealthxSniperx:** Nothing wrong with the review being short, love. And my memory is steadily going to shit, too, so no worries on that count. X3 I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter.

**PhonyPrincess:** :D You're back! Cute moments are just as necessary as the smutty moments. That balance is always necessary. ;D

* * *

There are many qualities a good leader _must_ possess, and for various reasons as well. Anyone can carelessly drop themselves into the lap of power and arbitrarily toss out orders for the subservient masses to obey, but only to a minor and typically ineffective extent. Beyond just having the trust of whomever you were to be commanding, you also need a basic understanding of human psychology, an intimate knowledge of your field, and a certain level of prudence, especially if your line of work was a dangerous one.

It was his calm that really let everything else show up so well, Ghost told himself. John was always so calm during a conversation, a personification of "frosty", never ruffled enough to make a mistake from a hasty or illogical response. He had the right mentality for their line of work, and he was well aware of the fact. The truth was, far too many people had gotten their teams killed for little more than nothing and general stupidity. Soap was determined to ensure that never happened to his team. If it was something that _could_ be avoided, it was. He calculated everything, left nothing to chance. He would sleep in fits and spurts for the weeks leading up to a mission, pouring over reports, calling contacts, calculating odds and double-checking timing... No one could ever claim negligence on his part for anything. The man had contingency plans for the impossible and was always waiting for something unforeseen to happen, just so he wouldn't be caught off guard.

A particularly messy mission involved recovering an HVI from a drug cartel in Colombia. The man was supposed to have been in his home, surrounded and protected, not causing issues half the world away. Their job was to get him out as quietly as possible, and back home before the press found he was missing. The first half of the mission had gone well, but the man had apparently decided he was in love with the cartel's daughter and refused to leave the country without her. The girl similarly threatened to raise the alarm if she wasn't taken as well. Ghost very clearly remembered demanding to know how in the fuck they were supposed to sneak _two_ useless civilians out of what would rapidly become a war zone if they didn't move quickly. MacTavish only muttered under his breath and ordered the both of them to follow him, and to question _nothing_ until they were safe. He had apparently spoken to a few men who were very well-advised on the happenings of the compound and had warned the Captain about the involvement of their target and another. He had planned a separate, more secretive (albeit longer) route, just in case the reports had been true. Granted, things had not blown over quietly, and more than one foot soldier had recognized the cartel's daughter and attempted to "save" her from a "kidnapping". Simon asked how he'd known to research a second path with more cover, and Soap had just laughed and said, "It's my job."

Even when things went a thousand times worse than what was expected, he retained his calm, planned everything out, ensure supplies and ammunition were rationed appropriately so they could make it out in better shape than could be expected from anyone else in their situation. Every time someone brought his prudence, calm, and foresight up, he would simply smile and remind them that it was his job. There were other special operations forces with Commanding Officers holding just as many commendations as MacTavish, just as much experience, and a casualty rate much, much higher.

"Risk is something that we have to face every day, just because it's our job. But it doesn't mean we should go out of our way to get ourselves killed. It's impossible to avoid danger completely, but that doesn't mean I won't do everything I can to avoid the worst of it if I can."

It was something he prided himself in, being able to plan things out and ensure the safety of his men in that way, though that same attribute generally made it difficult for him to deal with CO's of other units. He would meet with men who bragged about their kill counts and the number of countries they'd seen and how quickly they'd finished their missions and gotten back home to get wasted and do more drugs than one system should be able to handle. John would quietly ask them what their turnover rate was, how many men under their command were killed or discharged for medical or psychological reasons. These other COs would always react the same way; they would become angry, indignant men, men who would scream and call him a coward, ask what _his_ body count was, ask how long _his_ missions took. Soap would give them all the details he was allowed to, and he would watch as the information sank in, watch as these men would realize that John was more successful than they were, and by using "pussy tactics" and by keeping himself up at night to "go on fuckin' goose chases", and they would always storm way angry.

He soon got a reputation as someone who didn't play well with others, and that suited John just fine, as he hadn't yet met someone outside of his team willing to listen when he told them that they didn't have to kill _everyone_ in the city to get their job done, and doing so would just waste ammunition, and they had no way of knowing what lay before them. He took it upon himself to search out every possible alternative route and study every footpath that they may come across. He would learn every aspect of their mission backwards and forwards, calculate the ammunition they would need, the time it should take, the safest routes in and out of the situation...

For every "why bother" he was presented with, he had an instance that his prudence saved the lives of the men on his team. Some casualties were simply inevitable, unavoidable, and no amount of prudence or foresight could change their occurrence, but those were the only casualties he would tolerate. Simon accepted that during the days leading up to a mission, his time with his lover would be a little limited for these reasons. He knew that he just needed to be patient and let Soap exercise his prudence. He knew that he could sacrifice those few days so he could live to see many more of them in the future.


	34. TEMPERANCE

**A/N:** TEMPERANCE. More Ghost's struggle with lacking temperance than anything else, but whatever. This is the last of the Seven Holy Virtues, and then we can go back to the random things my brain vomits and passes for topics. :D

**xGhostxStealth:** My puppy is one hell of a pain in the ass. End of story. XP I hope you enjoy this one as well! :D

**Arhani "Hanny" Daforcena: **It's all about trusting one another, and I think they have that trust down. :)

**Mangoesaregood8: **It's good to be back. :) I like trying to think of the characters as more than what they are portrayed as. It can be difficult at times, but I think the overall effect is quite nice. :3

**xStealthxSniperx: **^_^ So glad you enjoyed it, darling. I try to keep my perspectives on the characters as realistic and accurate as possible. :)

**PhonyPrincess:** Smut, you say? During these little prompts I've been dumping my smut on the bestest website ever. XDCU dot com slash ACOD. ;)

**Iceshine:** They are blue. I wrote the first few chapters before really researching things. Soooo... Yeah. Problems corrected in later chapters.

* * *

The members of Task Force 141 were undoubtedly good men; they did the dirtiest jobs for the least respect, and all so that the free world could continue to be such. Despite being "good" men, few of them were truly "virtuous" men. They were gone to often for serious relationships to grow, so they resorted to their lust. They saw injustice in the world and were often left with little more motivation than their wrath. But the virtue most of them seemed to lack was temperance. A strong drink in front of them would not last very long. Ghost once said that they were living and working in Hell, so they might as well drink and enjoy the view.

Simon wasn't one for self-denial. The way he saw it, he'd sacrificed enough to be greedy and selfish if he so chose. He didn't turn to drugs when he thought no one was looking like Chemo did, and he didn't take to bed a new partner every night like Archer; he preferred to drink. It was legal, and he was in a committed relationship, so he didn't really have to worry about STDs; he just had to worry about paying for his tab at the end of the night.

John had never been one for drinking. He believed in finding more constructive ways to handle whatever he was trying to drown in cheap bourbon. He would indulge in violent video games, or run until he thought his lungs would collapse and his legs would give out, or he would play billiards until his back ached from hunching over the table. At the end of the night, he would be sober, and he would be caring for a very inebriated Simon.

The Brit would stumble home at odd hours of the morning, cursing at his keys for not opening the door automatically, and John would let him in, support him back to the bathroom where he would empty his stomach and get cleaned up before having aspirin and water forced on him and being tossed into bed. He would wake up in the morning to find more water and aspirin on the nightstand nearest his side of the bed, and John would be sure to have toast waiting for him in the kitchen.

"Everything else has gone to shit, John. Might as well be buzzed when we watch it burn."

It wasn't Soap's way to drink himself into oblivion. It was his responsibility to stay sharp and clear-headed at all times. And beyond that, someone needed to look after Ghost. He'd had a sit down with a headshrinker after a particularly grueling mission, as did the rest of the men that went with him, and the psychologist couldn't get too much out of him, but his dossier said enough, and the quack told John what he could.

"His whole team was tortured and killed in Mexico, and he was buried alive and left for dead. He had to use the body parts of his grave-buddy to claw his way to freedom. Something _that_ traumatic piles PTSD and survivor's guilt and stress and depression on top of "He-Was-Already-Unbalanced-To-Start" and shakes it up into a Ghost-Cocktail. The alcoholism is pretty fucking tame compared to what most men would do. Hell, if he were anyone else, I'd say he'd either be in a mental ward or he'd've killed himself by now. I'm sure he'll eventually come to terms with what happened and find a better way to deal with it, but, for now, he's finding his solace in the bottom of a bottle."

Soap had his reasons for staying sober, and chief among them was making sure his Lieutenant didn't drown in a puddle of his own vomit in a back alley somewhere. Simon was a regular fixture at some bars, and they all knew who to call when he got too drunk, or started getting belligerent, or when he passed out in the bathroom or went semi-catatonic and stared at nothing and responded to nothing for hours on end. And always, the Captain was there to collect his lover, coax him into the car, take him home, get him to bed. Riley would wake up in the morning with a killer headache, but aspirin and water were on the nightstand to combat that, and with the knowledge that he should eat something, and there would be toast in the kitchen waiting for him.

"Is that why you stay sober? To lord it over me with the aspirin and the toast?"

"Not everyone's that twisted, Simon."

"Hn."

John didn't try forcing his sobriety on Simon, not even through his "suspicious" niceness. He didn't tell Simon that he was wrong or that he was being an idiot, not for quite some time.

"Captain MacTavish?"

"Yeah?" Soap rubbed his eyes. He'd been half asleep on the couch watching a television program and waiting for someone to call and say Simon needed a ride home. He was hoping this was that call.

"It's Misha at the Bearded Lizard. Lieutenant Riley stumbled out of here about half an hour ago, got pretty upset when I offered to call him a cab. Has... Has he made it home yet?"

John looked at his watch. 0130.

"Fuck. No, he hasn't. Did he say where he was going?" Soap rose and began redressing.

"He kept mumbling something about Mexico? He said a few things in Spanish, but I failed those courses, so the only thing I could really get was Day of the Dead. I don't know where he's headed, Captain, but he could hardly walk out of here when he left."

"Thanks, Misha. I think I know where he's headed."

There was a cemetery not far from the Bearded Lizard. Simon said it was the only place that was always quiet, thereby meaning it was the only place where he could always go to think. He he was mumbling about his botched mission in Mexico, he was going to the graveyard. That, of course, brought about the issue of a stumbling, drunken Brit in a location notorious for bits of marble all over the place. One ill-timed slip, and he would hit his head and die. With that in mind, Soap drove a little faster.

He kept a flashlight in his car just in case. Just like the screwdriver, the tire iron, flare gun, and pistol with extra clips. He parked his car outside the cemetery gates and stepped out. The gate was locked, but that didn't mean anything. He walked the length of the fence until he encountered a section where two of the wrought-iron bars had rusted and fallen away. He squeezed through the gap and began walking through the rows of tombstones. He didn't waste time calling for his lover; Ghost was either too drunk to answer him, passed out, or would likely be ignoring him. And considering the three of them were all equally likely, he remained silent. John didn't find anything creepy or surreal about graveyards. As far as he was concerned, it was just an empty plot of land full of empty pine boxes where empty corpses once were. He often found graveyards to be the safest places imaginable. The religious treated them with respect and distance, the superstitious avoided them, and the dead could no longer do you harm.

He almost stepped on Riley when he found him, and he almost had a heart attack. Simon was pressed against a gravestone, looking very much dead. Soap cursed and dropped to his knees. Ghost was cold. Was that from the cold and the wet outside, or was it because he'd been dead for almost an hour? John shook him and ordered him to answer. He checked his lover's pulse and was relieved to feel his heart still beating beneath the chilled skin. He seemed to be breathing okay, too. He did a quick check of the Brit's pupilary response and it seemed the Lieutenant had decided the headstone looked like a comfortable place to nap. When he couldn't rouse Simon from his alcohol-induced sleep, he lifted his lover and carried him to the car. He cursed at the sleeping man the entire drive back home.

When Simon woke up, there was no aspirin or water on the nightstand, and the kitchen looked completely disused. Soap was nowhere to be found. He waited for the Captain to show up, and found himself waiting for over an hour.

"You broke routine," Ghost said casually. It wasn't an insult, more of a question.

John didn't say anything. He sat down at the kitchen table and waited for Simon to join him.

"I thought you were dead last night, Simon."

"What?"

"Misha called me at one-thirty in the morning and said you'd been missing for half an hour. She said you were talking about Mexico and muttering about the Day of the Dead under your breath. When I found you in the cemetery, you were cold and you wouldn't respond. I had to check your fucking pulse and breathing to make sure you were alive. I think I've let you scare the shit out of me enough."

"So what, no more drinking for me? You going to set a curfew for me, too? I'm not a fucking child, John."

"No. You're not. If you were I'd set you with a curfew and lock you in the bedroom if you came home late. As it stands, I'm going to ask you to try and use a _little_ self-restraint."

"Should I limit myself to two shots a night or just one?"

"I am _not_ in the mood for your sarcasm, Simon. I thought you'd finally managed to get yourself killed from drinking so fucking much, and you want to treat it like a game!"

"Well I'm sorry if I have offended you, Saint Johnathan, Protector of the Sober!"

By the time the insults died down, Simon had stormed out the door with no mention of where he was going. Honestly, who did MacTavish think he was to tell him to stop drinking? He was, unfortunately, far too rational to continue with that train of thought for too long. He understood why Soap had been so upset. If he'd stumbled over his lover looking dead, especially from his own stupidity. Rather than return the moment he realized he was wrong, Simon continued running through the neighborhood; something about movement calmed him. When he finally returned to the house, MacTavish was still sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading a science fiction novel about futuristic Marines in space fighting aliens and alien zombies. He calmly took a seat across from the Scot and waited for him to put the book aside. It took a few moments for John to finish the paragraph he was on, but he eventually dog-eared his page and closed the book.

"I'm sorry about last night. I'm a stupid, insensitive twat. And, if it means I don't scare the piss out of you anymore, I won't drink so much. That's not to say I'll stop, but I'll slow down."

John could only smile at him.

"I think I might be spending tonight in. Think I'm catching a cold from being out in the cold and the wet all night last night. No point in going to the bar just to be miserable. What do you propose I do in lieu of my standard attempts at alcohol poisoning?"

"Hm. I picked up a game about special operations in the Vietnam War, if you're interested in shooting at Russians with me," John smiled.

"When have I _ever_ turned down the opportunity to shoot at Russians with you?"

Simon decided that while the drinking made him feel deliciously numb, he rather preferred the feeling of content he achieved by spending his evening with John.


	35. Disjointed Reflections

**_IMPORTANT_ Author's Note: **I honestly don't remember what the inspiration for this one was, just that I found it half-finished in the back of one of my notebooks, and if the state of page is anything to go by, it was during one of my "coffee and cigarette diet" moments, which explains the following warning... **ANGST WARNING!** The "alternate" ending is actually the original ending, but it depressed me too much, so I tried writing a happier one. I honestly think the "alternate" is the better ending, but opinion isn't truth. ;)

**Arhani "Hanny" Daforcena:** I'm working on it. Things are just... No es bueno ahora. So, yeah. My update schedule is trashed right now. -_-; But I'm glad you're enjoying what I'm managing to accomplish. ^_^

**WillowRavenBloodstone:** I like keeping them as stand-alone stories for the moment, because I generally lack the motivation to drag something on for that length of time. I've tried more than a few times, buuuuuuut... Yeah. -_-; I am, however, working on a continuation of the high-school bit, and it may be a multi-chaptered thing like "Drinking Games" was. Just depends on mah motivation. ~_~

**xStealthxSniperx: **It really would be terrifying for someone you love to just be that close to dead. :/ I think it's nice to trade off who's being irresponsible. A nice change of pace, as it were. :3

**PhonyPrincess:** ;D Glad you're enjoying the other site, lovett. Yaoi is always the best therapy. ^_^

**xGhostxStealth:** There was a vague reference to Halo in there too; the book John was reading at the table about space Marines? Heh heh. I am uber nerd. XD

**knuckleduster:** I'm so glad you're enjoying things, and I try to update regular-like, it just doesn't always happen so well ^^; I like to examine characters from all possible angles, and I can't stand limiting a character. People are dynamic, fictional or otherwise. I don't like Mary Sues, and think that everyone has to be flawed somehow. Kira's immature and overbearing, and Stray is almost bipolar between calm confidence and needing validation at times. Real people have real issues, why not OC's?

**Mangoesaregood8:** There are always problems. Just problems of different varieties. ;)

* * *

Life in The Shit isn't easy. Nothing is ever quite easy in the middle of a war-zone. Things are different, tarnished, tainted, disgusting, filthy, dirty, horrifying. All things beautiful are trampled and ignored. There is no time to stop and smell the roses when you're running from bullets, from bombs, from mines and vicious dogs. War his hell, and beauty holds no place in the darkness.

Hair is not so soft when it's matted with blood.

The problem with war is how it follows you, sneaking behind you, tracing your footsteps, hiding in your shadow and blending in with your darkness. You'll hear a song and it will inexplicably remind you of that time in Nepal when the airstrike you called in set fire to a dried out forest and burned an entire village to the ground. It's a darkness that, at times, seems completely inescapable, and it will rear its ugly head with no warning, and will not leave with ease.

Blue eyes aren't so clear when they're rolled back.

You can look at a collection of people and pick out those who could possibly be a threat. You size your lovers up against the secret violence you know you hold. Even the standard GI has to bother with trying to make sure their partner can tolerate months apart on a typical deployment. But working under the cover of darkness, looking at a file with most of the information blacked out and classified was something completely different and infinitely more difficult. You could make plans for an entire month of leave and end up with an order to be on the next helo so Serbia after only a few days home. And you went, and you couldn't tell them that's where you were going. They had to understand, and they had to deal with it. Lovers were taken, but rarely kept. Long-term relationships were virtually unheard of, especially in the 141.

Teeth aren't so white when they're covered in cum.

It wasn't terribly uncommon for the men to go out, get drunk, lie to the barflies about their professions, tell them they were just specialists, apologize for only having one night left in town. They would fuck, go back to base, and make sure to avoid that bar the next evening. The lucky ones didn't have to leave base for sex, and the luckiest of them didn't have to go outside of the team. Outsiders would claim that Ghost got special treatment, got more perks and amenities than anyone else because he slept with Soap. But everyone else knew the truth; being the Captain's lover was a responsibility in itself.

Hickeys aren't as noticeable when surrounded by bruises.

They would say that they held a certain degree of attachment to one another, that they would be upset if the other died, probably even a mite depressed or enraged. But they would never apply the forbidden "L" word to their relationship. They both agreed that if you had to vocalize it, had to remind your partner of what you had, then you never really had it to begin with and you're just wasting your breath with a useless word that holds no meaning. They were very, very deeply attached to one another, and that knowledge was all they needed. There was no time for emotional break-downs in The Shit.

Hearts can't break if they aren't beating anymore.

When it became too much of a hassle to seek one another out on base, they eventually decided to become roommates off base, rented one of the first houses to come up on the market still a reasonably close distance to their work. Technically, they had their own rooms, seeing as how it was a two-bedroom house, but most of their nights were spent fucking, and it didn't make sense to use another bed for only a few short hours. It would be a waste of time, energy and resources. There was no need for complications when simplicity was an option.

Muscle memory isn't so useful when you find yourself incapacitated.

John wasn't quite an alcoholic; he didn't get the shakes when he went without booze, but he certainly liked to drink himself to oblivion. He liked to stumble drunkenly through the house, knock things over, scream about battles long since lost and won. He liked to feel the liquid fire in his veins, liked the burn of the whiskey and the way it made those old wounds seem so dull. He liked how the bottom of a bottle distorted reality for a few short hours. And Simon would always be there to make sure he didn't pass out with his face in the toilet and accidentally drown. Simon would always sweep up the broken glass and put the furniture upright again. Simon would always hide the aspirin for a few hours, just to make John suffer a little.

Pain hurts less when it's all that you know.

There are dozens of potential psychological hazards that come with any sort of work in the military, and that list is increased exponentially by working special operations, doing things under the cover of darkness and only with weapons, vehicles and technology that won't be missed or spotted amongst expense reports. Their memories were forever tainted and stained with flecks of blood and blinding explosions, and they often relived their missions while they slept. Flashbacks to horror and blood-chilling fear would spring up at random and without warning, interrupting their dreams and trapping them in the frigid, relentless grip of inescapable fear. They would always awake with a start, forever expecting to hear the lingering remains of a scream long since silenced, or feel the heat of a wound long since healed. The best nights were the ones where the exhaustion was too strong to permit the dreams.

Sleep is hardly a refuge when monsters have burrowed into the subconscious.

Their arguments were rarely as serious as their nightmares, and often times were silently forgiven and forgotten in a relatively short time-span. Of course there was always the rare occasion when they fought with the sole intention of causing as much damage as possible, and those arguments never remained strictly verbal for very long. One of them would through a punch, which would be followed by another punch, a kick… They would find themselves battered, bleeding, bruised, and they would stalk off to separate corners of the house to lick at their wounds until they finally decided they were done "acting like women" and patched each other up.

Undamaged skin is surprising when scars are so abundant.

Many of their less serious arguments were sparked by Simon's immaturity. He was convinced that they were paid to be professional in the field. How they acted off of the front line was nothing of anyone's concern. John would come home and walk from his car only to find himself pelted with water balloons in the summer and snowballs in the winter. John would be pissed, but he would inevitably get over it. Riley didn't laugh beyond an amused chuckle, not often, but when he did, it was infectious. For all of his seriousness, MacTavish rather enjoyed it when Riley forced him to do something stupid and out of character.

War must be reminded that its place is not the home.

There were multiple incidents when Simon would talk him into staying up late to play video games or watch movies and just generally act like they were still in high school and it didn't matter how late they stayed up because they could always retake their classes next semester. The would order in pizza or Chinese take-away and refuse to vacate their seats on the couch until they absolutely had to, and even then it was only for a quick run to the bathroom or to get more beer from the kitchen. They would often fall asleep on the couch, or just barely manage to fight their exhaustion long enough to crawl their way to the bedroom. Riley would always tease his lover at how much fun he'd had for someone with so sour a disposition.

Not all insults should be yelled in anger.

One of their neighbors thought they were immature. The rest didn't really mind. They would come home from the bars late, paying the cabbies a little too much, stumbling up the walk, singing songs older than they were, leaning on one another, fumbling with their keys, yelling terrible things when the locks didn't open immediately. They'd occasionally stumble back to the bedroom and just sleep, but they would often stumble back to the bedroom to fuck before passing out. They would, of course, wake up half in bed, half on the floor, sore, aching, and wishing they'd never heard of alcohol. They would close the blinds on all the windows and they would put down aspirin like candy. They would sit in front of the television and move as little as possible without being unconscious again. At least for a few hours.

Not all wounds are inflicted by an enemy.

John rubs his eyes and looks to the far side of the bed with a faint smile. He can tell Simon has been having nightmares with the way he is curled up on his side with a spare pillow crushed to his chest. Soap leans over him and tugs the pillow out of his grasp. With a faint scowl, Riley rolls over, still asleep, and latches onto his lover instead. Securely wrapped around the annoying Lieutenant, MacTavish settles back in and closes his eyes, content with the way things are for the moment; there's no need to worry about tomorrow when tonight is going so well. Simon shifts with a sigh and buries his face in John's shoulder murmuring something incomprehensible, his lips brushing over his lover's skin. John smiles to himself and works on getting back to sleep.

Even war can be a distant memory.

x+x+x+x+x+x+

**_ALTERNATE ENDING:_**

Undamaged skin is surprising when scars are so abundant.

He still wakes up in the middle of the night, searching out the warmth from another body long since gone cold. He still wakes with a start when he rolls over in the middle of the night and isn't met with the hard planes of Riley's back, but instead the cold, crumpled sheets. He smokes in the bedroom, hoping that one day the door will open and he'll be on the receiving end of a lecture in a familiar Cockney accent instead of having to make do with his memories. His only consolation is that he is on the run, and the hiding and paranoia fill most of his waking hours. Those that are left for thinking are more terrifying than any combat scenario he'd ever faced. He never got all of the details on Simon's death, and his imagination drives him crazy with the possible scenarios.

Wars fought with bullets are not always the worst kind.

One of their safe-houses had a piano in it. Had. Until John worked his way through a bottle of tequila and broke it into tiny pieces and set it on fire. Simon had been a musician, never met an instrument he couldn't work; he'd especially liked the piano and the guitar, and he would occasionally indulge John by playing a bit, just for him. John doesn't listen to music often, not anymore. Every guitar chord makes him nauseous and prickles his skin with cold sweat. Had Riley's fingers ever plucked at the strings to recreate this song? When he was younger and just learning, perhaps? Classical music doesn't cross John's mind, no matter how drunk he happens to be. Riley could play Beethoven better than Ludwig van himself, and the way his fingers would move over the keys, so effortlessly, so tirelessly.

Even the most vibrant life pales in the face of death.

Soap continues fighting for one simple reason: he will not let Simon become another faceless casualty in a war started on a lie. Once the world knows John could have never killed anyone in his team, much less his lover and the clumsy Sergeant he treated as a brother, he will find the time to rest. He will no longer stare at himself in the mirror and wonder what happened. He will no longer stare at the far side of the mattress and wonder if the bed would feel any smaller were there another occupant. When the time comes and his fight is done, he will again lay with Simon Riley.

Life is empty when love is gone.

* * *

**A/N2:** And there is the reason for the angst warning. Future chapters will be happier, honest. ^_^


	36. Sacred Silence

**Author's Note:** The inspiration for this came out of nowhere. This one is completely without dialogue, and still fluffy enough to smother you. Inspired by a lot of listening to The xx and Eels, and really just wanting to explore the softer side of two of our favorite characters. ^_^ I'm not sure if I'm happy with the way this one turned out, but this is how it's turned out.

**xStealthxSniperx: **My words are motherfuckin' art. ~_~ haha. Depending on the mood, I can really get sucked into the angsty side of things, so no worries. Next update is heeeeere. :D

**Reg: **Yes, the ending was terribly depressing, but I'm glad you still managed to enjoy it. :)

**Dibs on money: **One day, I will utilize all of my advanced vernacular and create something inexplicably pulchritudinous and likely magniloquent and bombastic! Aaaaand this is why I regret Freinding my 11th grade AP English teacher on Facebook. -_-; lol. Glad you enjoy the writing.

**Arhani "Hanny" Daforcena: **Sorry for the near crying incident. D: But I warrrrned youuuu! lol. I have seen the MW3 trailers, and I have fangirl'd all over the damn place accordingly. ^_^

**GranBoy: **I have missed the hell out of you. D: But yes, life is crazy hectic and unforgiving. :/ Three cheers for Good-Timing Postman, eh? haha. Yes, I do what you mean, and I try to avoid writing angst that just downs you for the rest of the week. Not. My. Style. P:

**xGhostxStealth: **Oh, my secret past of poetic angst is revealed! Still thyself, o' heart beating so rapid within my traitorous chest! Yeah. I went there. /dork moment. I couldn't bring myself to _not_ write the angst there, though. It just fit so well with everything, and it's been a long while since I wrote a post-deathfic. I'm glad it turned out so well.

**duvalia: **Yeah, you and your angst... The disjointed motif was really telling of my own thought process, though it's considerably less poetic and more disjointed/random... Heh... But, you best write that which you know, eh? Glad you managed to enjoy both endings. ^_^

* * *

As unfortunate as it was, waking up early was just part of life for Simon. His internal alarm clock went off around sunrise every morning. Some days, he would turn the internal alarm off and get a few more hours of sleep. Today, however, he had better ideas. He was careful to avoid waking his bedmate on his way out and towards the bathroom. He showered quickly, brushed his teeth, dressed, all without waking his lover up. He stood in the bedroom doorway for a moment, leaning against the door frame, watching Gary sleep. He was so beautiful when he slept, especially with the way the light coming through the blinds painted him with streaks and stripes of light and the way he looked like he was finally at peace.

Simon eventually tore himself away from the doorframe and silently made his way to the kitchen. He turned on the MP3 player connected to his speakers in the kitchen and set about making breakfast. He wasn't all too worried with waking Gary up; Sanderson could be one hell of a heavy sleeper when the mood struck him. They had just landed home from a mission, and were healing up a little at a time. Technically, they were on medical leave, despite the fact that they'd sustained worse injuries from more strenuous missions. The simple fact of the matter was that they were in desperate need of the time off and were dangerously close to working themselves to death.

Riley had made quite a fair bit of progress on breakfast when he heard Gary start the shower. He smiled to himself at the thought; the Sergeant had a way of looking almost adorable when he was waking up in the morning with the way he stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Simon was still smiling when Gary joined him, starting the eggs while Simon monitored the bacon. They worked together in companionable silence, never feeling the need to say anything. Once the food was taken off the heat and was no longer in danger of burning, Riley backed his Sergeant up against one of the counters and kissed him with a surprising degree of gentility. Gary smiled into the contact and wound his arms around Riley's neck.

They took breakfast on the patio in the sunshine, still maintaining their quiet companionship. Simon's house was on the far edge of civilization, distant enough so he wasn't bothered, but close enough so that he wasn't inconvenienced. There was a sprawling patch of forest that seemed to stretch on endlessly just beyond his back fence. It was a quiet, pleasant existence for the two of them, where nothing was expected of them, and they could come and go as they pleased with few exceptions.

There was a large clearing about two miles into the woods behind Simon's house, a place he liked to go and think and do nothing and be bothered by nothing. It was too close to the city for hunting or fishing, and too far from the city for joggers, meaning they were guaranteed an afternoon alone in the forest. Gary enjoyed packing a lunch for the two of them and walking the two miles so they could have a quiet afternoon with one another. Gary made a few sandwiches and threw them into a backpack, along with some trail mix, various fruits and vegetables, a few bottles of water, a few cans of beer, and some freeze-packs to keep the food cold while they walked. Simon stuffed a large, old quilt into the bag along with his MP3 player and a set of portable speakers. He zipped the bag up, threw it over his shoulder, locked the doors, and started walking towards the woods, Sanderson following close behind him. Simon took his lover's hand as they wound through the trees, following a path that only they could see as they walked deeper and deeper into the forest.

The clearing was several hundred yards across, and could have been more accurately described as a "meadow", but that was a word that Simon hated for reasons he didn't quite understand himself. He threw the blanket out in the middle of the clearing and set up the MP3 player to continue playing something mellow and calm. He dropped down onto the quilt and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Gary settled in next to him and hummed along with the song that was playing.

Simon wasn't entirely sure how long they were lying there before his lover stood up and began wandering through the grass. Simon wasn't particularly bothered by that, and knew that Gary wouldn't be wandering off too far, and not for long. Sanderson soon returned to the blanket in a manner that was almost comical; he dropped down to straddle his Lieutenant's hips with a bundle of bright red Drummond Phlox flowers gripped in his teeth, which were bared in a mischievous grin. Simon smiled up at him, a rare, soft, gentle, genuine smile, that made him seem so much more real in that moment than any action had ever made him seem before. Heavy hands settled on his hips and Gary set his red flowers to the side. He leaned forward and pressed light, gentle kisses to his lover's temples, the bridge of his nose, and the corners of his lips. He smiled down at his British lover and traced a healing cut that ran parallel to his hairline, though his eyes were still locked with Simon's. They were both battered and beaten and scraped and bruised and still only half-healed. Gary smiled faintly and kissed his lover properly, right on the lips.

It wasn't long before they were again lying side by side, Sanderson tracing the soft petals of his picked flowers, and Riley watching him with a smile hinting at unspeakable contentment. Between the sun shining down on them through the opening in the canopy of trees and the unmoving, unshakable warmth of Simon by his side, Gary was sure that cold in any degree was a punishment of some kind. He also decided that he could be a mile underground, surrounded by walls of concrete and lead with an endless supply of food, water, and oxygen, and he would never feel as safe as he did right then, unarmed, out in the open, almost half-asleep, and lying with his lover. It was a strange way to feel, but it was how he felt, regardless of how silly it seemed, and likely stemmed from the fact that he was having a surprisingly difficult time telling where he stopped and Simon started.

It took a bit of coaxing some hours later, but Simon eventually convinced Gary that they should eat the food they'd packed. They ate the sandwiches with no issue, but the trail mix was a different story. Gary threw raisins at his lover, who responded with dried banana chips, and the fight soon escalated to entire apples and oranges, and it was only a few more moments before Simon had his Sergeant tucked beneath him, hands held harmlessly out of the way. Riley soon abandoned his initial plan of "abusing" the Sergeant into submission and decided that it would be far more beneficial to change tactics. He left fluttering trails of kisses along the side of Sanderson's neck, pausing for a moment at a nearly-healed but particularly gruesome wound. He had taken a sniper bullet to the throat, got lucky when it grazed and didn't hit any major veins or arteries. It left a hell of a wound that would lead up to be a hell of a scar.

Not long after their "fight", Gary nestled down in a particularly warm patch of sunshine and watched as the tiny motes of dirt and pollen floated through the sunbeams. He heard Simon wandering around, rustling in the grass, and he knew that it would be a matter of time before his Lieutenant rejoined him. The American gathered up enough strength to turn over and face his lover when he returned. Simon had wild mint leaves clamped between his teeth. He offered a sprig of mint to Gary, who declined. Riley had always had issues with oral fixation, which he remedied with smoking in high school, and then chewing gum, pen caps, fingernails, _anything_ once he realized that lung cancer wasn't going to do his military career any favors. Sanderson pulled his lover back down onto their quilt and pressed against his side.

They watched a pair of birds circle overhead, fighting one another, though whether over a mate or territory was uncertain. It was a beautiful dance either way, and Gary found himself captivated. It wasn't long, though, before he tired of watching the birds and again straddled Simon, who simply gazed up at him with the same complacent look as before. Gary loved these silent moments between them; these pockets of quiet were often the only moments they had to be completely honest with one another. There was no room in the field for these long lazy hours of doing absolutely nothing, and the words they whispered to the silence at times like this were similarly forbidden anywhere else. It was an unfortunate separation, but one that they had to make. Gary leaned forward and kissed his Lieutenant, conveying every taboo word and emotion into the single action.

His fingers again trailed the new cut on his lover's face. He remembered when it had happened and he'd seen all the blood dripping down his face and he'd thought that his Simon would be coming home with only one blue eye. He was glad to have been proven wrong. He was caught up in the flashback of the explosion that had injured Simon and the subsequent sniper fire that almost killed him and he felt a bubble of fear begin to swallow him up before it burst and three words fell from his lips unbidden. The moment he realized what he'd said, he paused and searched his British lover's face for a moment before repeating them, this time with a little more conviction. Riley smiled up at him and repeated them, with the calm confidence that had started the American's head-over-heels fall for the blue-eyed man beneath him. There was a new, hard, fierce edge when the Sergeant kissed his Brit again. They had always confessed their love without words, always during these silent moments that remained silent, always without verbalizing. To have their emotions made more tangible was a rare and new brand of high for them. It was something that skipped like electricity over their skin and tasted like sweet spice as they spoke their forbidden words.

It didn't take many more words for them to decide to pack up and return home. They had spent their few hours in the silence and the sunshine, and it was time for more devious activities indoors. They weren't so careful when their backpack was tossed on to the couch; their care was directed at one another. It was almost strange that hands so soaked with blood and hardened through the killing of others could be so gentle and careful when brushing over the damaged skin of a lover. It was amazing that eyes so clouded with years of witnessing death and destruction could still find beauty in everything someone they loved could offer up.

They were still and silent again two hours later, wrapped up in one another, and Simon smiled when he realized he could no longer tell where he ended and Gary began. They could speak without words, could pick up on the tiniest indicators that something was wrong with the other, and operate as a single unit with more effectiveness and efficiency than anyone else could ever hope to. He could feel every dull thud of Gary's heart within his own chest, could feel himself expand with every breath his lover, his love, took. Gary shifted and, for a moment, Simon almost felt as though it were his own muscles slithering beneath the sun-kissed American skin. He whispered his three new favorite words to his sleeping lover and wasn't entirely surprised to hear them repeated. He knew better than to believe Gary would sleep through being told how loved he was. Simon kissed the back of his Sergeant's neck and whispered the words again, just so he could hear them said back to him. He was suddenly almost upset that neither of them had ever said those words before. Gary shifted again to face him and wrapped his arms around his Brit's waist and said his new favorite words for the umpteenth time in the past few hours, mumbled them around his exhaustion. Simon smiled and murmured the words into his bug's hair.

In the course of a few hours, everything had changed by accident, and they had become their lover's religion. "I love you" was whispered like a prayer, and touches lingered like reverent worship. They drifted in and out of sleep for the duration of the night, always taking those half-wakeful moments to whisper, taking advantage of this silence and peace. The words felt foreign before, heavy on their tongues like a dead language, but after practicing the words in quiet, half-heard whispers, the words flowed much more easily, no longer stumbling beyond their lips but moving with purpose. The words were no longer "Hail Mary", but "Ave Maria"; the same, but different. Exactly as they were before, but somehow more beautiful after so much practice, after so much more effort to take them from words to something somehow more. As the sunrise started and they began drifting off again, Simon decided that their very relationship had changed and their silent moments would never quite the same again. He also decided that he was fine with that.


	37. Minor Characters

**Author's Note: **I've gotten a few requests for "other" pairings, as in those not involving the Trifecta (Soap, Ghost, Roach) and I started bouncing a few ideas around. What resulted is basically drabbles composed entirely of smut and held together with semen instead of plot. Yayyy!

_**GENERAL DISCLAIMER:**_ I really don't own anything in here, except the sheer sexual deviance, the "real" names, and the teeny-little tiny-little timid-little plot bunnies that are more mascots than participants, haha. Character call-signs were ripped directly from Modern Warfare 2. I also totally swiped the idea of Chemo being a drug-user from **duvalia**. YOU WILL READ HER STORIES AND YOU WILL LOVE THEM!

**Dibs on money: **Ohhh, I'm a secret angst-monger. Don't let the fluff lie to you, lol. Oh, Mrs. Skipper was a bit out there. Generally cool, but really kind of weird in her own special way. I learned a lot from that class... Mostly how to hide yaoi manga books inside a "normal" book, hidden inside a text book, so she never knew how little attention I was really paying. (I do not condone this kind of behavior. /hypocrisy) lolol. Yeah, that last paragraph was some sort of fun to write, haha.

**Reg:** I'm sure there will be more Ghost/Roach, because I believe them to be their own brand of canon. I mean, Ghost specifically asked for Roach during the cut scene before the "Loose Ends" mission. ;)

**TarTarIcing: **How do I feel about Gaz/Price? I don't have a ton of experience with MW1 (only played through completely once, and did piecemeal missions a couple times), but I think it has its own merits... I've tossed the ideas around a few times, looked at the parallels of Price/Gaz and Soap/Ghost, but I haven't gotten around to it yet, lol. I like to find balance between genres for my work. I feel like I'm boxing myself in and becoming too bland with it otherwise. ~_~

**PhonyPrincess: **See! 141 =/= completely unromantic. :D Hahaaaa.

* * *

They could've claimed drunkenness, could've blamed everything on the shots. But they knew the truth. They knew that the alcohol wasn't that strong, and they knew that if even if it were they would still be groping one another in a back alley. They knew that there was really no excuse for them to be rock-hard and rutting against each other behind the bar, behind a stack of crates, trying desperately to keep the noise down.

Toad found his back pressed against the concrete exterior of the building, rough hands under his shirt, down the front of his pants, stroking him, teasing him.

"_Fuck_, Ian," he moaned. He grabbed hold of Archer's hair and bit into the sniper's neck.

"Watch the fucking teeth, Taylor," the Brit warned.

"Shut the fuck up."

They weren't typically into the public fucking side of things, but the urge struck them, and there was no way they were going to waste their time or erections. Their situation was helped, however, by the pressing presence of a storm; not only would their screams and moans be lost to the wind and thunder, and the pouring rain would keep all other would-be-exhibitionists inside.

Taylor "Toad" Slade soon found himself turned so that his chest was pressed against the concrete wall and frantic fingers were still tugging at the button and zipper on his jeans. He groaned and struggled to help. His jeans and boxers were pulled down to his knees and he bent to better expose himself. The rain brought a chill wind through the alley and he could see his panting breaths appearing as little puffs of steam in front of his face. It was a strange thing to notice, but he knew that there was no avoiding it, not with his training as a spotter… When he heard Archer spit into his hand, he cringed and started to almost regret the situation. It was going to hurt and there was no getting around it. He relaxed as much as possible and choked on a yelp as his partner forced his way inside. His body instinctively tightened around the intrusion and he heard his lover groan.

Ian "Archer" Richards knew being out in the open had turned his spotter on; that much was obvious in the way he tensed and arched before they even really got started. He wrapped one hand around the American's throat, and another around his cock. He stroked the American's solid length and kissed the back of his neck. He worked the spotter, inside and out, dragging moans and screams from him. Their sweat mixed with the water and washed away as soon as it appeared. It was somehow Toad who came first, screaming, bucking, moaning, clenching himself around the cock inside him. It was almost another two minutes later when Archer came with a grunt of his own. They cleaned themselves up the best they could, fixed their clothing, and started their way home.

* * *

There is a fine line between being sadomasochistic and thriving on sheer brutality. They called Shane Ambrose "Scarecrow"(1) for his bad habit of doing things without thinking, just like they referred to Andrew Cain as "Robot"(1) for his apparently heartless habits and demeanor. Their relationship should have been called abusive, but it was a different kind of abuse. Bloody knife wounds and split lips were practically foreplay for the two of them. They never had a "tame" fuck session, no long, slow hours of gentle sex and light kisses; they had no time for that. They would kick and hit and bite one another, completely unsatisfied until they drew blood and caused bruises.

A punch, a slap, something heavy thrown, something sharp swung, something blunt cracked… They would claw, hiss, scream. It was difficult for them to figure who would be taken and who would do the taking, as it always depended on who managed to get the upper hand for that particular round.

This particular time, Robot had the advantage quite firmly in his grasp. He was certain he had cracked several of his partner's ribs, and that had helped swing things in his favor. He bit Shane's lower lip, driving his teeth through it, drawing blood. Scarecrow retaliated and bit sharply at his tongue. Robot howled in pain and frustration and landed a solid hit to Shane's jaw. They exchanged a few more blows, but Andrew eventually managed to get him secured, get him tied, keep his hands out of the way.

Even as Cain penetrated his partner, force his way inside, they continued with their brutality against one another, still biting, scratching. The pain and the sight of blood seemed to only heighten their arousal, make them buck against one another faster, made them scream louder, cum harder. The blood and sweat mingled between them and the itching, stinging, burning of the wounds violated the boundaries between pain and pleasure and Scarecrow moaned loudly, winding his legs tightly around Robot's hips, aiming to bruise him somehow.

"Goddammit, Cain. If you ain't gonna gimme my hands back so I can jerk myself, then put a hand on my fucking cock," Ambrose ordered. Andrew bit his chest again, but obligingly stroked Scarecrow's straining erection, causing him to scream louder than he had previously. They worked quickly against one another, knowing that the harder they fucked, sharper they bit, rougher they scratched, the quicker and harder they'd cum.

Robot finished first and Scarecrow nearly screamed in frustration when Andrew stopped moving, stopped stroking.

"Oh, look at Ambrose, completely at my mercy."

"Shut yer damn mouth and fuckin' finish me, you bastard."

Robot laughed at the order, but eventually obliged the man. Once they were both finished, they limped to the bathroom and cleaned the blood and sweat and semen from one another and set to cleaning and bandaging the worst of the wounds they inflicted one another. There were no fleeting kisses or lingering looks between them as Shane pulled his clothes back on and limped out; he was kissed roughly on his way to the door and his ass was slapped on his way out. He winced but continued out, making a promise to himself to get revenge for that the next time they fucked.

* * *

Chemo liked drugs. There was no way around it. It was a nice way to lose himself, to unwind, to forget the particulars of whatever he'd been doing before he got the chance to get high. He liked drinking, drugs, partying, fucking, dancing, anything that couldn't be remotely related back to his day job. Any opportunity he can have to be James Adler he takes. That's why they called him Chemo, after all, because he survived drug-levels that should be toxic.

His favorite teammate was Rook, sneaky Irish bastard with hair the color of the bird's feathers. All it took was a bit of shine and you could have Mitchell completely enthralled.

That was how they ended up at a club downtown where sexualities weren't questioned and names were optional. To be honest, James hadn't been planning on having anything to do with Mitch, not that night. He was just looking for a way to blow off steam and had happened to see Rook across the bar. Naturally he had to see what his teammate was doing in a place like this.

On these nights, Chemo preferred downing ecstasy, something to keep the mood going, to feel like nothing could ever be wrong with anything. He said as much to his teammate, who nodded and readily agreed to try some. It was only a few minutes later that they were pressed against each other and dancing with a fervor they didn't know existed.

They ended up back in Rook's apartment, still high, still hard, still wanting to do nothing more than fuck.

They were detached, completely numbed emotionally, concerned only with the physical, and everything physical just felt so damn good. Not even the first almost careless shove into Rook really hurt; they were too far fucking gone for that. There was only pleasure, rushing endorphins, firing synapses. They were caught up in the raging rush of things, caught up in the feeling of it all. It was strictly carnal, heightened by the drugs and the alcohol…

They lost all concept in the passage of time, didn't care anything for how loud they were being or how rough. They were wrapped up in the drugs, both natural and artificial. They continued their climb, focused only on their pleasure, the pleasure of their partner, and they screamed incoherently when their completion crashed down over them. They rode the high out together, trailing light, lingering touches on their partner's skin, sending their already sensitive nerve endings on crazy trips through pleasure. Even when the drugs wore of, they remained close in an amiable silence, had another quick go, and James eventually left with Mitchell's promise that they would be partying again in the future.

* * *

(1): Yes, I know there are two 1's. Stole the names from Tinman more or less. Their "tin man" was Wyatt Cain, and their "scarecrow" was Ambrose. So I _could_ claim the names, but I'm not gonna. ^_^


	38. History

**Author's Note:** In lieu of a list of why I've been gone, accept instead this simple anecdote: Life sucks. Kay. Moving on to storie summarie... Little bit of a "different" tinge to this one. I don't know how to explain it, other than scrawling it out was a pleasant distraction from the near-anxiety attack I was subjected to while the accountant was in the office. Yes. That's right. I am terrified of the accountant. Not her personally, but the notion that she's going through my work just to be like, 'YOU SUCK AT EVERYTHING' makes me a little anxious. Spiders? Fine. Snakes? Sure. Clowns? No problem. Blood, guts, knives, guns? Whatever. Being a professional failure? Oh lord... haha. Anyway...

**xGhostxStealth:** Everyone deserves a little time in the spotlight, heehee. (:

**panpanpeppermint: **Queer As Folk... it sounds familiar... -Googles- OHHH! Never seen the show. D: Is it any good? But I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. ^_^

**XticktickboomX:** I know what you mean. This fandom needs more yaoi STAT. Haha. I'm glad you find even my OC's enjoyable. (: Also, every time I look at your username, I immediately start humming "Tick Tick Boom" by The Hives. XD

**duvalia:** Oh, it's _you_. Lol jk ily. :D I think we've like... started sharing a brain cell or something, maybe? I dunno. Didn't we have a conversation about abusive smexings not that long ago? I don't remember. I wanted to give each pairing their own full thing, but it ended up just being drabbles, mostly based on pictures I picked up on 4chan. (Isn't that a scary thought? lmao). Why did I choose a different name for Archer? Because I didn't really remember writing him into "Drinking Games". I figured I might've, but I was too lazy to look. Because I'm an awful, awful fucking person. :D

**xDoItForTehLulz: **I'm glad to hear from a long-time lurker. :) Bwahaha. Chapter 15. That was... interesting to write, haha. Chapter 19 was also something that was interesting for me to do as a writer. I have a hard time picking favorites, so I have a tendency to just slash them all together. XD Duvalia's got a lot of that going on too. ;D

**Ameij:** Wheep! It's you. :D I like to think that the two would look after one another, especially if they're romantically involved. :3 In all honesty, I didn't intend for the "happy" ending to be an "illusion". Prolly shoulda clarified that, heh. That one was supposed to be pre-game, when Simon was actually still alive. But that could be an interesting take on the chapter... I'm still glad you liked it. :)

* * *

Simon had not been "the best choice" for an XO within the 141. He was not even "a good choice" as an Executive Officer. As far as John was concerned, Simon was "the only choice". His commendations and list of accomplishments certainly helped with the selection process, but the two had known one another for longer than they let on. A lot longer.

John and Simon met when they were eight and six, respectively. Their initial relationship had been cautious and wary. They talked first about whatever came to mind, slowly branching out to playing robbers, stealing cookies from the kitchen in a great heist, rarely getting caught, and never selling one another out if they were.

They helped one another with reading and writing and maths when their schooling started getting a little more serious, and for a long while it seemed they were completely inseparable. Just after John's eleventh birthday, things went south.

John swore he wasn't going, that he wasn't going to go anywhere unless Simon could come too. No, no. You have to go. It'll be okay. You can come visit Simon whenever you want. John would never admit to crying, and neither would Simon. But they both knew they were crying. John was old enough to understand the horror stories the older children told of kids being put into foster care to "ease the burden" on the orphanage they lived in. A kid in the system was one less kid the Sisters and Fathers had to watch. John eventually pulled himself together and told Simon to be strong and that they would see each other again soon enough.

Six months passed before they were reunited. Simon was in town, perusing the shops, looking for an unwatched counter so he could possibly steal a candy bar. He saw a familiar shape shuffle by and he immediately turned.

"John!"

The Scottish boy had always been the larger of the two, always standing a little taller and broader. After the six month separation, he seemed lankier, taller, more wraith-like. Although that was probably just how thin he'd become, how dark the circles under his eyes were. John tried turning to face his friend, but he stumbled. Simon had always been stronger than he looked and he caught his friend a little more easily than he would have been expected to. He pulled John the few blocks down to the orphanage where he started yelling for help. The responding medics were unable to separate the two of them. John had to nearly order Simon to go before the stubborn Brit would let him go.

The Sisters and Fathers wouldn't tell Simon what happened, and John wouldn't talk about it either. Simon just knew that he was the only person who could touch John without having him flinch away. Simon slept on the floor near his friend's bed until they were given a room together again.

Simon was thirteen and John was fifteen before he was told what had happened. Simon hugged his best friend while he talked about being beaten, starved, deprived of sleep, and stabbed before he managed to run away. John swore that as soon as he was sixteen, he'd get a job and he would find a way to take Simon away from the orphanage.

Simon was taken two weeks later. It was a clear, cold day in October and he'd been selected to go to a foster family. John "helped him pack" his few meager belongings. Just before he walked out of the door to their shared room, Simon threw himself at John, hugging him tight before kissing him and whispering "I love you". He meant to slip away, but John grabbed him and kissed him in return.

"I love you, too. Stay strong. If it gets bad, I'll come get you."

Simon nodded a little breathlessly and kissed his friend again before a slightly scandalized and impatient nun cleared her throat in the hallway. Completely unconcerned with Sister Mary Can Fucking Wait, he kissed John again, licking at the inside of his best friend's mouth for a moment before eventually tearing himself away and disappearing down the hall.

John was sent to a new foster home a few weeks after that and it was nearly impossible to track Simon down. He eventually got a job waiting tables at a snooty restaurant and, finally sixteen and old enough to emancipate himself, moved into an apartment with a coworker of his. He spent the rest of his time hunting for Simon.

Exploiting a few contacts and spending most of his spare cash on collecting information, he eventually found that his long-time friend had been put into a very highly abusive foster home. He apparently returned to the orphanage a few months after John had been sent to his own foster home, finding that John was gone and no one would tell him where he'd gone. Simon left the orphanage in the middle of the night a few weeks later. It took a few more days, but John eventually found the fourteen-year-old slumming it. He would sleep anywhere that wouldn't throw him out and he'd often resort to stealing food or charming people into giving it to him. When the weather was too cold or too stormy for him to rough it outdoors or when he needed a shower or would kill for a real bed, he'd either seduce or charm his way into someone's home. When John finally tracked him down, he was extremely underweight, had dropped out of high school, and showed signs of self-harm. John ignored his roommate's protests and brought Simon home.

"I looked for you," Simon frowned as he put his plate on the arm of the couch. John was forcing him to eat. Simon hadn't slept for a few days and he said it made his appetite drop. John refused to accept that answer.

"They took me not long after they took you. I tried finding you, but by the time I'd tracked your home down, you'd already run away. It's hard to track you down when you're living on the streets."

Simon didn't say anything, but he finished eating the little bit of food John put in front of him. Stephen left the apartment to start his shift at the restaurant. John knew it was about thirty minutes too early to be leaving, but he was silently grateful for the additional time with his friend. As soon as the door was closed and the lock was thrown from the outside, Simon lunged at John, clinging to his clothes and sobbing silently. John rocked as he held Simon, trying to comfort him.

"I blamed myself for so long when things got bad and you didn't show up. I was so convinced that telling you I loved you had disgusted you and sent you running... The first two days I was there, they ignored me and I thought I could handle it. I couldn't, John. The things they did to me... I kept thinking of how you were so strong during your first foster... They'd let me eat every other day if I was lucky. I could shower once a week. They'd get all their friends together and get high and beat me unconscious when their trips went bad... I can't tell you how many times that led to me waking up, tied to a bed being... fucking... goddammit, John."

The apartment had two bedrooms, with Stephen in the larger one and John occupying the smaller of the two. Simon tried insisting he'd be fine on the couch, but John pulled his friend to his own room. John kissed Simon for the first time since they were separated and he listened to the younger teen draw in a rattling breath as he tried to calm himself and put that careless persona back on. John kissed him until he gave up and eventually managed to cry himself to sleep.

Stephen had been initially wary of taking another teenager in, but John swore Simon wouldn't be a burden. Simon had been an artist when they were at the orphanage and he started selling whatever he drew to local businesses and the occasional passerby who were charmed by his disarming smile and his almost-playful-sounding accent. He didn't make much, but it was enough to help pay for food.

Simon didn't take up much space or eat much, and their water and electric were set numbers every month, courtesy of their lease with the apartment complex. Once Stephen got used to the notion that there was, in fact, a third person in the apartment, he started noticing it wasn't really a stretch on his income or John's. Sure, there were times when things were a little rougher than usual and he had to skip on a few luxuries, but Simon wasn't some god-awful, fucked-up, crime-addicted terror like he was almost half-expecting. He could tell John was in love with the blue-eyed Brit, and that was fine by him, as long as he didn't have to listen to it while he was trying to sleep.

Stephen didn't really have anything to worry about. Simon and John didn't fuck until Simon had been living at the apartment for almost six months, and Stephen was out of town with his girlfriend for the day. John had taken Simon to see some kind of stupid movie and they'd gone home still laughing about it and before either of them knew it, they were fucking like bunnies in John's room. And in the bathroom. And on the couch. Once in the kitchen. Also, the dining room table. It was after one of their more recent rounds (back in the safety of John's bed) that the older turned to the younger and said, "I'll be leaving when I'm eighteen."

John explained that he was going to join the Army because it was definite pay and he could send money back to make sure everything was fine... He wasn't sure how Simon would take the news. He was glad when his lover took it well and said he was thinking about doing the same thing, see how far away he could get from everything.

It was two months after John's eighteenth birthday that he was gone for training, leaving a sixteen-year-old Simon and the twenty-year-old Stephen to write to him and take care of one another. He returned home for a few days after his initial training was done and was surprised to see just how much Simon had changed in such a short period of time, how much taller he was, how he was no longer as lanky and wiry as he had been before. It may have been "questionable", but they fucked again when they got back to the familiar old apartment, and spent most of John's time home with one another. This time when John left, he made it back home just days before Simon turned eighteen. It wasn't quite the homecoming he'd been expecting.

Stephen and Klara had gotten serious and she'd moved into the apartment with him. Simon couldn't stand watching the two of them fawn all over one another, so he was rarely home. He started working all the time, took college courses when he could, was at the apartment long enough to sleep, shower, eat, change, and he was gone again. John, completely unaware of this new habit, unlocked the apartment door, hoping to find Simon. There was a letter on the refrigerator for Stephen saying he'd already eaten and to not wait up, he'd be at the pub. John knew there was only one pub Simon would go to, and he didn't like it.

It was a loud and busy place that didn't check IDs and didn't really care who you went home with. John shoved through the people, rather pleased to find the SAS uniform made people back away of their own volition once they saw his scowl. He was familiar with the bartender and demanded to know where Simon was. With a slight wince, Shae gave a grim nod to a booth in the back corner. John followed her nod and saw Simon toying with a beer bottle while flirting with a man John didn't recognize. He could tell Simon was flirting; he could see how plastic the smile was from across the bar; but only because he knew where to look. John leaned against the bar, watching the two of them interact. The man eventually walked off, probably to the bathroom, leaving Simon's smile to drop away. Simon turned away from the table, scouting the rest of the pub. John sat across from him and saw him tense slightly.

"I wasn't expec-" All pretense of the charming, innocent young Brit persona dropped away, replaced by shock and a glimmer of hope.

"J-John?"

"I wasn't expecting you to be working so hard to fill the opening in your bed." The hurt in John's voice was evident to Simon, but likely not to anyone else.

"I haven't seen you in two years, John. It was just a way to get off. It... It didn't mean shit."

"Well what the hell is this then?"

John looked over his shoulder at the man that had been chatting Simon up earlier. The man was clearly intoxicated, and not much of a threat. John stood, towering over the intruder.

"Sorry, Rhys. I've gotta go. Come on, John." Simon stood and weaved his way through the people, making his way to the door. John sent one final sneer at "Rhys" before following his lover.

Simon was a lot taller than he'd been when John left him. A lot broader and more muscular, too. They stood eye-to-eye now and Simon looked even less like a teenager than he acted.

"It was hard, not hearing from you for so damn long," Simon said, sending his lover a side-long glance.

"The longest we've been apart since we met, if memory serves," John smiled.

"Too bloody long," Simon agreed.

They walked towards the apartment again in silence. Simon slowly inched closer to the Sergeant and eventually took his hand. John smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"You know... Stephen is going to be visiting Klara's family for the next few days," Simon hinted.

"Suggesting something?"

"That we've got two years of lost time we need to make up for."

They spent several hours just fucking, relearning one another. Simon missed feeling John inside of him. He missed the way John would whisper his name when they went at it. He missed the way John left hickeys all over his skin. He missed the way John's cologne stuck to him, how he could catch the fleeting scent of his lover from under his own clothing. He missed the way John wrapped around him when they were done fucking and would whisper to him until they fell asleep. He missed the way "I love you" sounded when it was grunted in a Scottish brogue.

John's fingers traced gently over familiar scars on Simon's chest, testament to his time in foster care and to the things he'd put himself through to survive on the streets once he'd run away. He kissed each of them before he reached for Simon's arms and kissed the obviously self-inflicted scars littering the pale skin.

"You're not coming back after this, are you?" Whispering didn't hide the hurt in Simon's voice.

"I don't know when I'll be back, Rye," John admitted.

"You're SAS now," Simon smiled.

"For now."

"Planning on getting out soon?"

"My CO said something about getting transferred to an elite unit."

"More elite than the SAS? Whose bed were _you_ filling," Simon teased.

"I don't know when I'll be back from this, Simon."

"I'll be in the army myself soon enough."

John didn't say anything and neither did Simon. With John being "super elite" and Simon starting at the bottom, they would likely never see one another again. They both knew it and they both felt that knowledge wrap around them and attack them with an army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres, commanded by the Could've Been King.

"I'll miss the hell out of you," Simon whispered.

"I'll send my letters here. Have Stephen forward them to you. So we can always keep in touch."

"I'll do the same."

Simon and John refused to leave one another for the remainder of the time John had to spend home. It wasn't exactly a "tearful" goodbye, but they each whispered "I love you" at least a dozen times before finally separating and going their own ways.

Stephen kept up his promise to both of them. He received letters from Simon and forwarded them to the most recent address he'd gotten from John, and vise-versa. The letters from both of them slowed to a trickle and eventually stopped completely. He received letters himself from both of them. He found that John was generally called "Soap" now because of his tendency to clean up any possible loose ends before calling it a completed mission. Simon had been picked up by the SAS, much like John had been, and had earned himself the moniker "Ghost". It made sense when you thought about how quiet, stealthy, disarming he'd always been; Simon was one man you never saw coming.

"We've gotten word of an 'exceptional' Lieutenant within the SAS. They say he's harder to kill than you are," Shepherd smirked.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Sir."

"You might've seen it already."

"Sir?"

"According to his record, he's from the same city you are. Same orphanage, too, if memory serves."

Without thinking, John pulled the file from the General's hands, looking it over.

"I'd like to transfer him in, Sir."

"You don't even know what he's capable of."

"I know exactly what he's capable of."

"You trust him?"

"With my life and the life of everyone in my team."

Simon half-expected the transfer to the 141. Since he'd lost contact with John, the military was the only thing he had going for him and that was good enough for him. He spent a little time looking for his long lost lover, but he eventually ran out of the time to do so and the will to keep disappointing himself. He arrived at the base with orders signed by a "General Shepherd". He said as much to someone who introduced himself as "Boomer", who led him to the officer's housing across the base, explaining the Captain he'd be reporting directly to was injured, but still wanted to see him. Boomer swung the door to the small house open, yelling something along the lines of "the new Limey being here". Simon stepped into the small living room and Boomer closed the door. He heard footsteps from the hallway and he stopped. There was something definitely familiar about this Captain, about the way he stood, the way his eyes were flashing. The haircut was clearly not regulation and he hadn't shaved in at least two days... But underneath that it was still-

"Tavish?"

"Rye."

Simon didn't move for a long while, staring at "Captain MacTavish" from behind his mirrored sunglasses. He removed the sunglasses and the balaclava, tossing them carelessly aside before striding up to his long-lost friend, pulling him close and kissing him harder than they'd ever kissed before.

"This is the longest we've been apart since we met, if memory serves," John smiled when they parted.

"Too bloody long," Simon whispered, echoing a conversation years since finished.

"I transferred you in the second I saw your name on the list. Didn't even consider anyone else."

"It was a General who signed the papers," Simon frowned.

"Fewer objections to his signature."

"Whose bed have _you_ been filling," Simon teased, again reliving their long-lost moments.

"Mostly kept an empty bed."

"Then we have some lost time to make up for. Unless your injuries-"

"They're bullshit. Damaged ankle and a few cracked ribs. Suffered worse in foster care."

Simon pulled John down onto the couch and they held one another in silence for a few long minutes.

"I looked for you every chance I got. It's hard to track someone down when they don't exist half the time," Simon chuckled.

"I kept an eye out for you. I couldn't clear your transfer in until you got to the SAS; Shepherd's rules. I think I might've teared up a little when they had you listed MIA on a classified mission."

Simon knew that meant John had cried himself to sleep when he'd been buried alive during The Mission. He kissed John again in a silent apology for worrying him, even though he couldn't have stopped his lover from worrying.

"No more transfers. No more moving around. I'm tired of waking up alone," Simon growled.

"Agreed."

"Good. Now let's start making up for that lost time," the Lieutenant leered. John found no reason to disagree.


	39. Sick Day

**Author's Note:** Attack of the fluff-beast... Soap/Archer bit. Why Archer? Because of ekaterina2's gorgeous depictions of him over on DeviantArt. :D (Also, should this chapter manage to get me to 300 reviews on this particular story, I'll take requests via PM or email (listed on my profile) and I'll pick and/or poll one and/or more concepts.)

* * *

Archer had a bad habit of sleeping very, very soundly during his down-time; he was notoriously difficult to wake up when he no longer had to worry about getting shot. John rarely tried walking him up once he fell asleep because it was generally a wasted venture. Soap was quite the opposite, finding that he, under all circumstances, was a terribly light sleeper. In fact, Ian being such a heavy, hardly-moving sleeper helped John stay asleep. The Captain had dealt with people who like to toss and thrash in their sleep and it inevitably kept him wide awake all night. So when Ian started sweating and kicking at the blankets while breathing short and heavy just before bolting to the bathroom, John was awake and very deeply concerned.

Ian hated being sick. He hated it with a passion people usually reserved for Nazis or terrorists, so he made sure he was rarely sick. Illness always got its revenge, however, as when he _did_ get sick, it was usually of the violent variety. This time was no exception, as he knelt over the toilet, vomiting for a solid thirty seconds and then dry-heaving for another two minutes following. He flushed the toilet and shakily got to his feet, rinsing his mouth with water to try battling the taste of bile. That somehow made things worse, as he was immediately back over the toilet, stomach clenching and heaving, making his back hurt. When he was done this time, his _everything_ hurt. Or... Or had he hurt like that when he got out of bed? He groaned and leaned against the side of the bathtub, the cool porcelain press feeling brilliant against his skin.

"I told you to get the flu shot," John murmured. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the thermometer.

"You'd better hope it isn't the bloody flu, because then you'll be in my position before long," Archer snapped.

"I doubt it. Unlike you, I got the flu shot."

John sat on the pristine white floor next to his lover and jammed the thermometer in his mouth. Ian tipped his head back and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and not the terrible, looming threat of being sick again. The high-pitched beeping from the thermometer made Archer's head hurt, and John gently took the thermometer from his mouth.

"Thirty-nine point two. Your body aching?"

"Every-fucking-where."

"Generally or worse at the joints?"

"Knees and elbows feel the worst, if that's what you're driving at." Archer's statement was punctuated with a sudden, violent coughing fit.

"Congratulations, Ian. You've got the flu."

"Piss off, bloody fucking prick."

"Are you alright to stand, or do you think that'll make things worse?"

"I'll be fine."

Ian staggered into the living room, where he promptly dropped onto the couch and pulled a blanket around his hunched shoulders, fighting against the urge to run right back into the bathroom and try puking again. He closed his eyes, still shivering, still wishing he could go to sleep. John saw him pale and shoved a mop bucket into the sniper's hands just in time. John sighed and rubbed at his eyes. It was three in the morning on a Saturday and his lover had the flu.

John stayed awake with him, put the television on paid advertisements, rubbed his back while he heaved pointlessly like clockwork every twenty minutes. Ian, for as much as he had endured in his chosen line of work, was on the verge of tears when his body finally gave in and he nearly passed out against the Captain's side at seven.

"Phone. ... Phone! ... _PHONE!_"

Simon opened one eye and glared at Gary, who was trying to burrow into the mattress to escape the sound of the Lieutenant's phone. Just to be a prick, Simon answered it on speaker phone.

"Yes, lover who's better at sexing than Gary," Simon answered sarcastically. He was hit with a pillow for his trouble.

"Ian's sick."

"No playful banter in return? He must be really bad off."

"It's the flu."

"Didn't you tell him to get the shot," Simon asked around a yawn.

"When was the last time Ian willingly set foot in a medical facility for his own injuries or illnesses?"

"Point. Where's he now?"

"Finally fell asleep. Been puking since three. Look, you know how Ian gets when he's sick..."

"Don't worry about it. Bug and I will be by in a few hours with soup and those sports drinks that are supposed to keep you from dying of dehydration," Simon promised.

"Thanks, Riley."

"No problem. But you owe me."

"I'm not dressing in drag and hiding in a cake for Gary's birthday."

"Well that wasn't on the table before, but I'll take that to mean it is now."

"Goodbye, Lieutenant."

Ghost put his cellphone down on the nightstand and turned back to Roach.

"What?"

"Why would you even suggest getting John dressed up in drag and inside a cake for my birthday? You know he doesn't have the legs for that kind of ensemble. If it had to be one of the two of them, at least make it Ian."

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

"Oh please. I'm not the one who suggested-"

"I know what I've suggested. If you're going to keep being so rude, you can go back to sleep."

"Because there was definitely a better option in there, yeah."

"Well I was going to suggest another round..."

"We've been fucking almost non-stop since we stumbled through the door at ten last night."

"Is that an 'I can't keep up' or just a standard no?"

"Oh, we'll see who can't keep up..."

John let his head drop against the back of the couch and he closed his eyes, keeping Ian pressed tight against his side, praying his fever would break soon. He loved Ian, he did, but God forbid the sniper ever get sick. It wasn't that he whined or complained. In fact, the exact opposite was the problem; Archer refused to act sick or hurt, even if he was. That made taking care of him incredibly difficult because he would never confess that anything was wrong.

Archer slept rather soundly for someone so sick, though he did wake up from time to time to ask if there were any more blankets in the house. By the time Simon and Gary showed up at nearly ten-thirty, Ian was bundled up in every blanket they owned, curled up against John, still shaking.

"I made lazy here get up and make the chicken soup from scratch," Simon said, nodding to his lover.

Gary was holding a large pot of slightly tepid soup.

"Ja. Made just as mein mutter made in die old world," Roach said with a poor German accent and a goofy grin.

Simon slapped the back of his head with a mutter that he should act his age. Soap chuckled at the pair of them before slowly wriggling out from under Ian. The sniper frowned and sniffled in his sleep, but made himself comfortable and showed no other signs of wakefulness.

"I brought aspirin for his fever, decongestants for everything else, some of this nasty pink bismuth shite for the upset stomach, ginger ale, the yellow sports drinks because he says the red tastes awful and the blue has a funny after-taste, and we brought a few movies," Simon listed the items in the bags he carried as he walked them into the kitchen.

"He's got the flu, not the plague," Roach muttered.

"You're right. But I'm used to dealing with melodramatic you," Ghost huffed.

"I'm nowhere near as melodramatic as you."

"I appreciate you two bringing all this over, but if you manage to wake Ian up with your arguing, I won't hesitate to throw you out into the street without so much as a thank you," Soap reminded them.

They put the pot of soup on the stove on a low setting to get it warmed back up. They spoke in hushed tones until the soup was hot enough to present to Archer without fear of being called 'idiot muppets'. He wasn't a particularly picky eater, but he said that eating soup cold or even lukewarm was a crime against humanity that he refused to take part in.

Ian opened his eyes very slowly, trying to wade through layers of sickness and exhaustion. His eyes were open long before they were focused, but he eventually managed to get it together. John prodded him to sit up, and he did, if only to make the annoying Scottish bastard shut up for five seconds. He stared down at his hands for a few long seconds before the smell of soup registered with him. It was Gary's soup. He sipped at a spoonful of the broth, still trying to wake up a little more before he really tried eating.

Sanderson swore that it was his soup that made everything better; it was real chicken, egg noodles, carrots, onions, celery, chicken stock... It was something his mother used to make him when he was sick, and something he used to make his sisters when they were sick. It took only the slightest hint of salt and maybe a sprinkling of pepper if that was your thing, but it was generally perfect without fucking with it.

Archer sipped at the tiny bit of soup he'd been given. He was prepared to complain at the "child's portion" when he was handed the soup, but by the time he'd made it about a quarter of the way through, he was appreciative of Soap's foresight. He pushed the bowl away and was handed a bottle of cold ginger ale. He sipped at it for a moment before eventually putting it down and curling back up on the couch under his fort of blankets.

"If you need anything else, let us know," Simon whispered as he pushed Gary outside. John nodded silently as he nestled back down in the couch next to his lover.

Ian only slept for about an hour longer before he decided to take some medicine and watch a little television.

"Still feeling awful?"

"Maybe a little."

Soap changed the channel to a show about restoring antique cars and pulled Archer a little closer. Ian coughed violently to the point of gagging and finding himself completely incapable of regaining his breath. John handed him a bottle of water and warned him to take small sips. Archer obeyed, this time, and again flopped bonelessly against the Captain, unable to support himself.

"Okay. Maybe I feel _really_ terrible," Ian gasped.

John murmured an apology and rubbed soothing circles on Ian's back, pulling the Brit over onto his lap. Archer had always been pretty small, especially compared to John; Ian was comparatively short and thin, someone who could hold his own well enough in a fight, but still looked like he could be overpowered. That was honestly one of the first things that attracted the Captain to him, how it looked like the Brit could probably benefit from someone keeping an eye on him, but he didn't necessarily _need_ it. John kept him close as he sniffled and shivered, completely unconcerned with possibly catching the flu himself.

Ian didn't leave his lover's lap, except to go to the bathroom or get something else to drink, though if he was getting up to trek into the kitchen, John usually pushed him back down onto the couch and got whatever he was after for him. Under normal circumstances, Ian would gripe and complain about being pampered and babied, but he had a hard time remaining standing for any serious length of time, and his muscles continued to ache and his joints screamed. He took another painkiller and chased it with more cold medication. He spent a great deal of time on MacTavish's lap, not moving, hardly awake.

Soap took care of Archer well into the evening, gently forcing soup past his lips, convincing him that yes, he did need to finish drinking that bottle of Gatorade before going back to sleep, turning the thermostat up so he didn't feel quite so cold. He practically carried Ian into the bedroom that night, put him to bed. John was sweating at the heat in the house, and yet Ian remained under his blankets. John suffered through the heat, remembering that there had been plenty of times he'd slept in worse conditions. The heat from the thermostat, the heat from Archer's fever, the heat from outside... But Ian hated being sick and he took comfort in being close to John, so John suffered through the heat and made sure he slept just a little bit lighter for signs of distress from his lover's illness.

The combination of the sunrise and the gentle snores coming from Archer woke Soap up the next morning. He pressed his lips to the sniper's forehead and was pleased to find his fever had broken overnight. He held the Brit for a few long minutes before he woke up.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm. Yeah. I'm not nauseous or cold anymore."

"Still weak and achy?"

"Gonna be pissed if I lie?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, still weak and achy."

"Poor thing."

"Piss off, will you?" Archer smiled despite himself. Soap chuckled and kissed his forehead again.

John's impeccable self-motivation was the only thing that got them showered and out to the living room for breakfast, seeing as how Ian was, for once, more than perfectly content with just laying with his lover for the entirety of the day. Ian was a little more like himself than he'd been the day previous, a little more talkative and a little more willing to eat, though he was still not quite up to where John would like for him to be. Archer waved off all attempts at eating what he considered "too much' and he didn't move around a lot, generally finding that doing anything more than just sort of laying there made him cough and wheeze. Curled into John's warmth, though, with familiar strong arms around him, keeping him from shaking, he didn't feel the urge to move, not really.

By the time dawn broke on Monday morning, Ian was feeling a hell of a lot better, significantly less weak and achy, and only slightly tired and sniffly. He didn't really do much on base, however. He took things slow and tried to keep his illness from acting up again and making things worse. The Captain brought him lunch and stopped in to see him throughout the day, always kissing his forehead or his cheek or holding his hand or sitting close to him or asking if he was okay. He pretended to be "tolerating" the contact and the constant coddling, but it actually gave him this strange sort of "warm-and-fuzzy" feeling, and he rather enjoyed it.

"Has anyone seen Roach?" John scanned the men at the firing range, looking for the missing Sergeant. During his search, he also noticed his Lieutenant was missing.

"Riley called your cell phone while you were down range. Apparently Gary's picked up the flu bug from somewhere and he's making Simon take care of him," Archer smirked.

"He's not expecting us to bring him soup or anything, is he?" Soap was rather suspicious, knowing that Gary had his moments of being insufferable.

"No. Riley just wants you to bring him a handgun and one bullet. Didn't specify if it was for him or Sanderson, but I still don't think it's a good idea to take it to him."

"Oh, I agree with you completely. They do enough damage to one another without the aid of modern weapons."

Archer laughed for a few moments, but then dissolved into coughing so violently it left him doubled over and gasping for air. John helped him get upright again with a scowl.

"I know what you're about to say, but there's no reason for you to say it. I'll take more medication when I get home," Ian gasped.

"You had damn well better."

Officially, there was nothing keeping Archer from doing whatever the fuck he wanted, but he learned to accept the notion that he was going to take it easy, or he was going to pay for it on his personal time. He loved John, there was no denying it, but he really, really could do with out the disapproving looks from the Captain and the lectures he knew would come when they were in their own company instead of the company of the team.

Later that evening, when Simon called John and started whinging about how Gary had the flu and he wouldn't _shut the fuck up_, Ian decided that there were worse things in life than letting the Captain nurse him back to health.


	40. CHANGE OF STATUS

**_STATUS CHANGE!_**

This is really just one big Author's Note. All of my open projects here are going to be put on "Hiatus", but it isn't one of those "code for quitting" things. I'm working on some original content to get up over on FictionPress and I've decided that there's really no reason for me to keep making excuses on why I don't look for my camera to get back to photography. I'll keep lurking here, I'm not closing the stories or deleting my account or anything, I'm just not really gonna be active here so I can focus more on my original works. I'm sure I'll be back before long, but right now, there's too much going on at once and, unfortunately, this is one of the things that I have to step back from. But don't feel like you guys are the only ones suffering through this; I don't have plans on seeing my Xbox until the end of December when my ex and I get together and turn Call of Duty into a drinking game. :P

I'll be back before too long. Thanks for being patient/understanding. :)**_  
_**


	41. Theory

**Author's Note:** Right. Inside the brackets are the reasons I've been gone. Outside the brackets you'll find the information about the story. Read as you'd like. [[I've been gone for fucking ages here, and judging by the reviews I've been getting, some of you are a mite upset with me. I promise I have good reasons, including, but not limited to my older brother being deployed for almost a year, a younger sister graduating boot camp in the Corps a few weeks ago, a cancer-scare, the development of migraines that come and stay for days at a time, and the terrifying realization that I have a tendency to skip eating and sleeping with startling regularity when I'm stressed.]] So I am back for the moment, but updates will still be irregular at best. This one is cross-posted from a fansite I write for. I know, I know. Not exactly a Trish Original, but bear with me. I've had the same headache for two days and most of my caloric intake for the past week has been coffee, black and bitter. I've been on a serious Jeremy Renner kick lately because Jesus Christ with a blowtorch have you seen him and his arms and his butt and his like everything? So yeah. I watched SWAT over and over again because nothing is hotter than a hottie as a bad guy, amirite? So I sort of took a lot of influence from SWAT and ran with it and decided that looking back is for pussies. Enjoy.

**LunaShadow99:** Anderson, honey, you terrify me in every possible way. You need to get your shit together and get in touch with me. I was just talking to John and Hamish yesterday about how no one's heard from you since we took you to see The Avengers. But I'm glad you're obviously not dead by your reviewing things.

**OMGJOHNFUCKEDSIMON:** O_O Uh. I'm back kind of? Please don't hunt me down and turn me into a jacket. I'd make a much better lampshade, I swear. I know I've been gone, but this whole 'being an adult' thing sucks hardcore. I haven't even really spent that much time working on stuff for FictionPress. I actually did a massive delete of a lot of stuff from my computer, so you guys are not the only ones suffering, unfortunatelike.

**BLKsheep:** Haha. Well I'm glad you found dayf/Ameij. We've kind of got this weird sort of mutually-inspiring thing going on. It works for us, I suppose, haha. My brother hated me when I really started getting into this fandom. The summer after MW2 came out I would come home from work every day, kick him off the Xbox, and beat the MW2 campaign. Every day. For two months. And then he sold it because it was his copy. So I know the feeling. I had to go out and buy MW1-3, as well as Black Ops. That was a rough shopping trip.

**jink4rules:** Little more. Not much, but you know how it goes.

**ahmed:** I honestly forgot I ever even mentioned something about the number of reviews. I've done a lot of drinking and smoking and not a whole lot of eating or sleeping, so anything deemed 'not immediately essential' is deleted. Sorry 'bout that. I promise I wasn't holding out for some arbitrary number of reviews. I've just been too busy to write.

* * *

Some days I wonder what life would have been like if Ghost hadn't lost it after Shepherd tried killing him. He cleared the psychological exams, mostly. Physically he was still untouchable. But he was a right fucking mess after that. He asked why we didn't try warning him when we were attacked first. I tried telling him that it was hard to send a word of warning out when you're fighting for your own life, but he didn't hear it. This is the second time he's been fucked over by a commanding officer, by someone he trusted with his life. I can't really find it in myself to blame him for it too much.

He got out. Fucked around on his psychological evaluations just enough to be declared too unstable to keep around but not so much it would keep him from functioning normally as a civilian. He's a goddamned genius, so no one was really surprised when it played out that way.

I saw him about six months later. I'd just landed back home after a few weeks of trying to clean up Shepherd's fucking mess. His hair was a bit shorter, but it seemed somehow messier. New tattoos and a wild sort of smile that he only ever used to wear when we were jumping out of a fucking plane. He made a few obscene gestures at me from the snooker table, but he didn't come any closer or say anything. Maybe if I'd gotten word to him a little sooner we'd be sitting at the bar together, making comments at the expense of everyone else. But instead I sat at the bar alone while he made a mess of things just far enough away. I almost wished I hadn't seen him at all.

I went back to the bar a few days later, using up the last of my leave time before it was back into the shit. Simon was there again, only alone this time and about five shots into the night by the state of things around him. He eventually sauntered over to me and took a seat, not nearly as drunk as he should have been.

"So what was it gave you cold feet, MacTavish?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

"Well you waited until the last second to warn us off and we still lost Roach. Was it that? Is Sanderson what sent you into a tizzy of telling us it was a trap? Did Shepherd swear to let Gary live and then he shot him anyway? Is that what had you turning?"

"You've got no idea what you're talking about. Price and I were fighting off Shepherd's men _and Makarov's. I didn't know what was going on until it was too late. You think it doesn't bother me that you and Sanderson were in that position to begin with?"_

"I think you should've known it was a trap when you walked into it."

"You sure as hell didn't."

I don't really remember much of the fight, just that someone came up and pulled Simon away and shoved him out the door and there was someone in a far corner yelling something about the police being on their way. I got the hell out of there before I needed to use my one phone call to get Price out of bed to bail me out. It wasn't something I needed on my record.

I was only gone a few weeks this time, and I went back to the bar. I tried telling myself it was just for convenience and not because Ghost was there. Even I didn't believe it, and I'm fairly certain Simon was onto the fact, too.

He wasn't there when I showed up and I tried to pay attention to the blond that was trying so fucking hard to bed me. But the doors opened and there was that annoying fucking Cockney singing an old drinking song he used to belt out when it was us and the rest of the 141 out for a celebration after a successful mission. I don't know why it cut so damn deep, but that didn't stop it from cutting. He took a seat right next to me and ordered both of us a drink and I wasn't sure I liked where this was going.

Next thing I know we're both a few drinks into the night and he's confessing that the only thing he ever truly loved was the shit he did for the SAS and the 141. Said it only seemed right that he got fucked over on even those. I'm pretty sure it started out as a fight behind the bar, but the next thing I know we're back in my quarters fucking like mad animals. He was gone when I woke up the next morning, but that didn't really surprise me. Even when he was sane and stable he wasn't one for lingering. I was a little surprised by the knife stabbing a note into my end table that read only "You were a mistake".

Another month passed before I caught sight of Simon Riley again. This time it was out in the middle of nowhere, in a country I've never officially visited. Price and I ran into a group of mercenaries chasing down the same leads as us for a private bidder who pays more than any government will pay a soldier. Simon was there, grinning and waving a sidearm around, leading the rag-tag troupe. I gave him fair warning. I told him to stay he hell out of our way. His smile went cold at that one and he told me that my rank didn't mean shit out here. I think that one hurt a little more than it should've. He'd always joked that my rank didn't mean much because everyone goes to the XO with problems and that was him. It was all in jest back then. But this time he was mocking me and everything we went through. So I didn't say anything, just turned around and walked off.

At least when Simon was in uniform, he knew he had people to answer to and that helped curb his obnoxious cocky attitude. Not this time. This time he was top of the pecking order and he liked it. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted and as long as the job gone done, no one gave a toss how it happened. Looking back on it now, I should've tried keeping him in line. But wounded pride blinds and all that bollocks. So I didn't see him creeping up on my kill until he'd finished the job. I'd thought he'd headed south to chase another target with a smaller following. I was wrong. But he went from being bold and careful to cocky and careless and when the knife came down it was twice I'd failed to warn him in time.

"Live with a man 40 years. Share his house, his meals. Speak on every subject. Then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge. And on that day, you will finally meet the man." For the longest time, they were just words from some show that Sanderson watched constantly, even though there was only one season. But with our target and his men dead and Simon bleeding too fast, they were startlingly true. I'd spent countless hours with Simon, in the field, in bed, in and out of danger, and yet holding him in my arms trying to stop a bleed I knew would kill him anyway, I saw him for the first time. He knew he was dead and he knew that I was only keeping death away. There wasn't any resentment in his eyes now. He wasn't scared or crying or begging. He was calm. The calmest I've seen him in a long time. He put one hand up to my face and he smiled, teeth stained with his own blood.

"Looks like the best always die young, yeah? Don't get weepy on me, you bastard. I'm saving you a seat in hell. God knows if I get stuck next to Hitler I'll shave his mustache clean off and be done with it." I couldn't help laughing, even if it was pained and choked.

"I'll never forgive you not warning us. But not for me. I can't forgive you for Roach," he said. His smile was fading and there was more blood on the dirt than in his body and I knew he was nearly there. His confession didn't hurt. I know now like I did then that I can't ever forgive myself for letting Sanderson die any more than Simon could forgive me for the same. If I was really pressed, I could've found a way to save him. But I'd thought they would be safe for the few seconds it took me to get to adequate cover. Simon cringed and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me in and pressing a blood-laced kiss to my lips. He died and I held on. I buried my face in his neck and I am not ashamed to admit I cried. I would have stayed there until the body went frigid and started to smell if Price hadn't pulled me away and told me we needed to get the fuck out of there. He still wore his tags and I took them. Grabbed the first man from Simon's "team" I passed and told them that if he didn't get a proper Catholic burial back home in England I'd hunt them all down and show them exactly why I always got the information I asked for. He nodded and two weeks later there was a new hole in the ground in a small cemetery with Simon's name engraved on the headstone.

So that's the story of how it's been ten years since I went to a shitty dive bar with the name of "Casterly's" and why it's only been a few hours since I last saw Simon's face. Because he still haunts my dreams like the Ghost he was named for, only now he's an actual ghost and God knows he won't give me any peace. But, somehow, I think this is a better ending. Better than the alternative where I walk down to the bar every weekend and see him standing there, surrounded by people he should have hated had his life not fractured into "Lieutenant" and "Now". Better than when I still believed he blamed me for getting shot. But he didn't blame me and that's what still makes it sting after all these years. Because he didn't blame me at all, not really, not any more than he blamed himself. And in my stupidity and sentimentality, I never once told him he wasn't at fault for Gary's death. They couldn't recover Sanderson's body, so he's just a headstone on an empty plot. I'm the only one who visits either of them regularly. Occasionally Jester or Robot will stop by Sanderson's grave and leave a can of beer on the corner of the stone, some kind of fucked up tradition that makes them laugh and cry at the same time. I'm the only one to visit Simon. It isn't that the others resent him, but more that they couldn't understand why he did what he did. But I can. It's why I find myself sitting with my back against his headstone, telling him that he isn't really missing much with the 141 because it's all still paperwork and boring bollocks and sometimes, if I'm especially tired or intoxicated, I can almost hear him laugh and tell me I knew what I was signing on for.

So yes, some days I wonder what life would have been like if Ghost hadn't lost it after Shepherd tried killing him, and then I remember that he could've died in the mountains and we never would've gotten our goodbye, short and messy as it was. I wonder because there's a theory that says that just by imagining a different world, it is brought into existence. I wonder because I like to think about a different series of events because I know that in some parallel world, Simon's sitting next to me, laughing and telling jokes made in poor taste and things are a damn sight better than they are here and now. But, at the same time, I know there's some version of me that lost Ghost in the mountains and, old gods help me, I'm glad that I'm not him. Because at least I have scuffed dog tags that still feel like part of Simon and the well-worn memory of one last bloody kiss.


	42. In Repair

**Author's Note:** To be filed under: "Reasons Why Trish Is Not Allowed To Drink Vodka Alone In The Middle Of The Night While Listening To John Mayer Songs." I know it's a quick update, but sometimes I get overcome with feels and things just happen. Quick piece written while my brother was in the hospital last night. He's fine at the moment, but I felt guilty because he was apparently having severe stomach pain during the Liverpool v. Tottenham game I begged him to accompany me to and he never said a word. It turns out he's fine, but while he was in the ER with my parents and I was stuck home, I put a song on loop and tried convincing myself that it wouldn't have been any different if we were at home instead of the footie.

**LunaShadow99:** I think you mean "ANDERSON". Things are okay, but hectic as hell. I was just talking to John about how we haven't heard from you since we took you to see The Avengers all those months ago. You should deffo email me because every time I go to my inbox, I just get distracted by all the RPs I have running.

**mw:** I seem to have a secret soft spot for writing angst. I'm not sure why. I have a bad habit of falling in love with a character and either destroying them or killing them. I'm not sure. I don't know how often I'm going to be updating, but this one just sort of happened and relatively quickly after the last, so who knows, haha. I'm glad you're enjoying them.

**Angel's Anthem:** I have to admit that checking my phone and seeing all of those reviews stacked up made me wonder if I was getting anon hate again. So glad that assumption was wrong, haha. I try to keep everything balanced out in the way of smut/emotionalism/fluff/humor/etc. I can't really claim I do everything in here intentionally (like the beginning and ending with the same concept), it just happens to work out that way. I like trying to show off different sides to the characters because when you only focus on one aspect of their personality, it feels like the characters are stagnating and not growing and they feel one-dimensional and a little more fictional. I'm not sure if that makes sense. As far as the pairings go, I'm a notorious OmniShipper. I have an armada of ships for every fandom I'm in. (The worst of which being Avengers, wherein I ship everyone with everyone else and have no regrets in doing so) So my "favorite" pairing for this particular fandom is Soap/Ghost, with Ghost/Roach and then Soap/Roach coming after. But I've also written a few more interesting pieces (there's even a Price/Makarov one-shot if you know where to look), so really the pairing usually comes down to whatever mood I'm in, haha. Insofar as your request goes, I do believe I have one or two "Ghost in charge" pieces. I'll dig them up, dust them off and bring them to light for you. :)

* * *

Some days, when it's all said and done and the screams die down and you've scrubbed yourself until your skin aches and you know it's all psychological but you can still smell the blood, you don't feel much like a soldier. Some days when everything is quiet again and you're alone with the dark things inside your head, you feel very much like a scared kid drowning in a uniform that hardly fits and trying to get used to how damn heavy your boots are. Sometimes your wounds itch as the heal and you have to fight the urge to lost your mind and start throwing things and overturning tables because some days you're too convinced you deserve worse to be thankful for what you have now.

Some days, Simon remembers odd things about his life before the military. He vaguely remembers his mother, but not in the sense of comforting him or anything like that. He remembers she had a deep love for the color blue and he remembers she had an antique sapphire ring that never left her hand. Sometimes, when he's lying in bed, the memory of watching sunlight filter through the square blue stone comes to mind and he closes his eyes and for a second he's home again and everything is right in the world. He remembers the pale yellow sundress she wore with a wide smile and the way it whipped around her knees when the wind picked up and made her laugh all the harder. That's most of what truly sticks out in his mind when he's feeling he's beginning to lose it; just the way her ring looked in the sunlight and that day she wore the yellow dress.

It's the perfect kind of night to die outside, he decides. The sun's setting and the clouds are painted a post-apocalyptic shade of orange. It's a warm night and the humidity is low for the time of year. He lays back on the mostly-forgotten picnic table and watches the stars struggle to make themselves seen as the sunlight continues to fade away. The perfect kind of night to die outside. A meteor blazes across the sky as it's burned up in the atmosphere, ceasing to be before it even has a shot at reaching the surface of the world. He closes his eyes and remembers the time his father had 'been away on business' and he'd stayed up late with his mother and they'd watched a meteor shower together. She'd smiled so easily that night.

Fireflies skip across Simon's vision and he watches them, blinking on and off, searching for a mate in the warm air. He pulls one hand from behind his head and holds it in the vicinity of one of the insects, allowing himself a faint, sad smile when it lands on one of his outstretched fingers. It blinks for a few moments, resting its wings, before deciding it would have a better chance in the air and it takes off once more. He puts his hand back behind his head and resumes watching the sky.

The mission had been successful, in terms of objectives. But Grim and Colt had still died. Granted, they weren't part of the 141, part of the liaising American force they'd been forced to take on, but it still cut deep. Why had they deserved to die out in a foreign country where their bodies couldn't even be recovered while he got to go back to their home country and contemplate bleeding out over the worn wood beneath his back? His thoughts weren't necessarily 'dark' or 'depressed'. They simply... were. They passed through his mind with the same sort of ineffable calm as an idle notice of the weather. He wasn't caught up in hating himself at the moment, he was just convinced this was the perfect kind of night to die outside and he knew that in lieu of his sidearm (back in his temporary barracks) or a length of rope, the knife in his back pocket would make short work of him in a matter of minutes. Not morbid, just simple scientific fact.

The street lights started winking on closer to the barracks and the car park and he ignored them, still watching the bright orange glow be overtaken by the closing press of the darkness that would come, no matter how much you wished for a few more hours of sunlight. The moon was a tiny sliver of light against an inky backdrop as its appearance became more and more obvious and Simon focused on it for a while. His mind doesn't stay focused there, and he soon finds himself thinking about all the men he's lost on missions, whether it was his call that got them killed or not. He's still running through his mental checklist when footsteps break through his concentration. He ignores the sound of combat boots scuffing over the pavement and then pressing through the grass. He ignores the warm body that lays too close to his own in the summer heat and continues staring up at the sky.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm asleep and landed in a stranger's dream. I'm half-waiting to wake up one of these mornings to be 16 again and wearing my brother's old jacket and carrying a backpack with more holes than books in it," Gary said slowly. Simon didn't acknowledge him and the silence settled around them again and it was the same kind of confining comfort as wrapping up too tightly in an old blanket when you find yourself feeling sick.

"Sometimes I wake up because someone's screaming and I realize it's me and it's hard to remember what life was before this. It's like I get little flashes of normal life, of an inside joke I had with someone in high school and it still makes me crack a smile and then another mortar round lands too close and there's nothing but my training anymore. It scares me some days," Sanderson continued. This time, Simon looked to him instead of to the sky. Gary returned the gaze, face nearly unreadable.

"It's the perfect kind of night to die outside," Simon murmured before looking back at the stars.

"Yeah. Yeah I guess it is," Roach agreed. He watched Simon now, instead of the stars, wondering what had Ghost dealing with his demons so calmly in the middle of the night and all on his own.

"It's the perfect kind of night to die outside, but then there'd be no one to look after you, so I'll wait a little longer," Simon smiled.

"My fault you're sticking around, is it?"

Simon met Gary's gaze, still smiling and said, "Your fault entirely, Roach."

Time passed and they spoke little, watching the stars wink at them from billions of billions of miles away. Most of those stars were dead and the news just hadn't reached their distant viewers just yet. Their memory was still lingering, still keeping an eye on a tiny little speck of blue and green far out in the vast empty of space. Simon shifted, trying to restore circulation to his shoulders, but he soon gave up and sat up. Gary followed not far behind, both of them still watching the stars.

"You know, I think we were wrong," Gary murmured.

"About what?"

"This is the wrong night to die outside. My bed always feels too big when you're off and away and I'm pretty damn sure I need to sleep sometime this week."

Simon smiled at him and stood up, offering his hand to help Gary rise. The Sergeant took his hand and they made their way back towards Simon's temporary lodging. They'd be headed home soon enough, and then they could worry about finding the perfect night to die outside. Because tonight didn't work for them, not when they still had the excuse of long, lingering touches in the safe darkness of Simon's room. There would come another warm night when the only witnesses were silent stars that were almost assuredly dead themselves already. There would be another night in the future when the sun-parched dirt could drink up their blood like it was never there except as an old stain. But tonight was for enjoying the night while their hearts still beat strong enough for them to feel how warm the breeze was.


End file.
